iTrade Places
by Jetshinsei
Summary: Sam and Freddie both feel unappreciated. What better way to settle who's more unappreciated than with a bet? Seddie, T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**iTrade Places**

**Summary: Sam and Freddie both feel unappreciated. What better way to settle who's more unappreciated than with a bet? Seddie, T for language. **

**AN: So, I was watching trading places the other day (With Eddie Murphy and Dan Aykroyd; if you haven't seen it, well, what's wrong with you?), and kind of thought this would be a neat idea for an iCarly fic. iOMG is a non-issue here. My first POV story, so hopefully I can manage it.**

**Disclaimer: My name isn't Dan and I don't get to hang out with the casts of iCarly and Victorious :(**

**Chapter 1**

"And that's it for another stupid awesome episode of iCarly!" Sam says, grinning widely at the camera. I angle the camera towards Carly, already anticipating the brunette's actions. After so many years of doing this, it was like second nature.

In what is possibly the cutest movement ever, Carly points at the camera and gives it her 'school teacher' look. I personally thinks she looks more like a sexy librarian. "Don't grab the candy out of that crazy hobo's hat!"

Sam sidles up close to the lens with a serious glare. "Not even if he's your dad."

"Bye!"

"We out!" Sam yells, puckering her lips and throwing up some obscure gang sign. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd made it up on the spot.

"Aaaand we're clear," I say, still laughing a little at their improvised sign off. I'm always amazed by the random things they manage to come up with since they definitely don't plan them during our rehearsals. Or at least they don't plan them around me.

Sam flops down on her blue beanbag–really, she'd written her name on it and everything–and expels a loud breath of air. "Well, I'm exhausted," she groans, fanning herself with her hands. "Hey Benson, get me a Peppy and a Fatcake, will ya?"

I raise my head to look at her. Was she serious? With how often she verbally, physically, and emotionally abuses me, did she really expect me to get her snacks? I frown over at her and snort, placing the five pound camera on my A/V cart with my laptop. "I'm not your slave, Puckett."

As if she hadn't even heard me, she snaps her fingers at me. "Today, Benson! Make yourself useful for once. It's not like you've done anything strenuous all day."

I can't even begin to imagine how my face looks at this moment. Never mind having to carry a five pound camera for nearly 45 minutes straight, but filming an entire iCarly webcast was extremely stressful. We have three separate cameras ready to go at any time, all of which have to be precisely controlled by a box that I wear on my belt. I have to come in an hour early just to queue up video clips on my laptop, download the sound effects we need that week to Sam's remote, and test the lights and microphones before every show.

If you count daily server maintenance, the transcoding and editing of videos, fan comment moderation, and the occasional replacement of studio electrical components, I hands down devote the most time to iCarly. Hell, I probably put in double the time of both Carly and Sam combined.

I feel my anger build until it begins to boil over. "Get it yourself," I snap, slamming the lid of my laptop closed a little bit too hard. For a few quiet, tense seconds, Sam doesn't move. Her long blond hair shifts first, and suddenly she's staring up at me with something akin to fury. My anger morphs into fear as I see the look in her icy blue eyes. Oh chiz.

Before I go any further, let me explain something to you about Samantha Puckett; or, as you'd better call her if you want to keep your extremities intact, Sam. To be blunt, Sam is a brute. Yeah, she's 5'3 on a good day, and yeah, she weighs all of 120 pounds, but somehow, she has the strength of a college football linebacker. I specifically indicate college linebacker because she has, on more than one occasion, tossed our own school's linebackers around like they were preschoolers for something as small as getting the last hot dog on mac 'n' wieners day. Ever since then Principal Franklin forced the lunch ladies to save at least five hot dogs just for Sam, because according to him, "Heads roll when mama doesn't get her meat."

So you can understand why I was currently praying to every existing deity for a chance to turn back time for one minute. Just one minute to make myself shut the hell up and get her snacks like a good little punching bag. She hadn't been hitting me much lately, but that didn't mean she wouldn't.

Luckily, Carly stands up and huffs, standing between the two of us. "Would you two give it a rest?" she says in that angry, exasperated tone that I still find sort of adorable even after being rejected seventy-nine times. Yes, I keep track. "_I'll _get it for you."

My eyes widen. "Wait, Carly–" I start, but it's too late. I slowly turn my head to look at Sam, and I swear I see my life pass before my eyes.

She slowly pushes herself to her feet and crosses her arms, staring me down with a look I've seen all too many times in the past. A look that basically promises pain and suffering in the near future.

My eyes shoot towards the door, noticing that it's open just wide enough for me to fit through if I turn my body sideways. I can make it. Sam's fast, but I'm used to running from her. Also, now that I'm a few inches taller and my legs are longer, I'm just a little bit faster. I edge around the cart to give myself a clearer path.

"Sam," I start, trying to calm her down, "I know you're a little angry with me, but–"

And then I book it. Out of the corner of my eye I see her also sprint towards the door, but I'm closer. I'm gonna make it.

I twist my body to slip through the doorway, elation temporarily overriding my fear. My joy is short lived as I feel a strong hand around my wrist, and at that moment, I realize I'm fucked. Fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked.

She throws me back into the room with one hand–seriously, how the hell is she so strong?–and I land painfully on my back, rolling to a clumsy stop. In seconds she is on me, straddling my chest and gripping my t-shirt in her hands.

If there was a girl on top of me, I'd think this was sexy. I'd always had some sort of weird fantasy of a girl having her way with me while I was powerless to stop it. According to the therapist my mother made me see once a month said it was because of mommy issues.

But Sam isn't a girl. Not even close. Sometimes, I even wonder if she's a human. No one can eat that much food and still remain under three hundred pounds. No girl can intimidate grown men twice her size with a glare. It just isn't feasible.

"Going somewhere?" she sneers.

I idly wonder if she can feel my heart thumping from her position on top of me. "Sam, look, I know you're mad."

"Mad doesn't _begin_ to describe what I feel right now." She raises her fist and smiles a sugary sweet smile, a smile that I've come to associate with impending injury. I close my eyes and brace for impact. I find that if I don't see it coming, it hurts a lot less. Or it hurts more. I can never remember.

The sound of a Peppy Cola can opening instantly brings relief to my ears. Sam looks up to see Carly holding a soda in one hand and a Fatcake in the other. Forgetting that she was about to pound me into the ground, she pushes me back down to the ground and jumps up, snatching both items with a grin. I scrunch my face up in disgust as she takes a huge bite of her snack cake and follows it up with a large swallow of Peppy Cola.

See, that's another reason why I can never see Sam as a girl. Okay, yeah, contrary to what I said before, I'll admit that every now and then my traitorous eyes will cast an appreciative glance over the blonde's body, because let's be honest–she has a great set of curves. Her chest had really come into its own over the last couple of years, and on those extremely hot days where she wore Carly's old denim cut-offs, her butt absolutely begged to be groped. Luckily she's usually a mean, disgusting tomboy who covers herself up in flannel and downs a pound of bacon every day so my attraction to her goes almost as fast as it comes.

I shoot the brunette a small, appreciative smile to show her my thanks for saving my life, but she simply rolls her eyes and grabs something from my A/V cart.

"What are you two fighting about, anyway?" she asks, holding out another can for me.

A sharp pain shoots through my arm as I reach for it, causing me to wince. It feels like she dislocated my shoulder. Again. "I don't know what _her_ problem is," I shrug, suddenly feeling bolder now that I have the virtually bulletproof buffer of Carly to protect me. "But I'm sick of Sam making me feel like I'm not a big part of iCarly too."

Sam looks up at me then, that infuriatingly bored expression on her face. I absolutely hate that look.

I don't know how she does it. While my ears are burning, voice is cracking, and fists are balled at my sides, she's completely calm and collected. I'd even say that she had complete indifference when it came to most of our arguments.

Not to say that she couldn't go off, because _holy chiz_, could she go off. I still have the burn scars to prove it. Annoyingly, those moments are much fewer and farther in between than mine and usually only happen after a lot of pushing. Or when something she loves is threatened. Like food. And sometimes Carly.

A tiny smirk appears on her face, instantly putting me on edge. "Because you're not. Any animal with opposable thumbs and the ability to open a banana could carry around a camera for an hour."

My mouth drops open. "Did you hear that?! She just called me a monkey!" I sputter, gesturing wildly at the smug demon currently tossing her empty wrapper on the ground.

Carly, bless her angelic heart, crosses her arms over her chest and fixes the blonde with a glare that couldn't hurt a kitten. But, hey, it's the thought that counts. "Sam, we've been over this, remember? You agreed that Freddie was an important part of iCarly. You hugged and everything." She neglects to mention the part where she'd also given me a wedgie that ached for three days.

"I never said he wasn't important. I'm just saying that what the nub does isn't nearly as hard as what we do."

I'm so surprised by her statement that I can't help but choke out a strangled laugh. "Oh, please. Carly and I are the only ones who actually do any work. You just show up and squeal at the camera. Any animal with a snout and a curly tail could do that."

Sam moves to stand up and I dive behind Carly. Some might call me cowardly, but really, I'm being smart. Carly is literally the only person I know that Sam would never hurt. She won't even bother to try to separate me from Carly for fear of snapping her in half; which is a very,_ very _real possibility given the twig-like nature of her limbs.

"Is that how you really feel, Fredward?" Sam asks, a little too innocently.

I rack my brain, trying to figure out her angle. I can tell she's up to something. I can _feel_ it.

I'm not just being paranoid, either. I've known Sam for well over five years, and though I hate to admit it, I know her pretty well. I know how she thinks, and if Sam ever says anything that sounds even _remotely_ agreeable, then it's probably a trap.

Still, I can't figure out what she's trying to get at, so I slowly nod my head.

"Yeah, that's how I feel."

Sam shrugs her shoulders. "Okay, you're entitled to your opinion."

Carly glances back at me, and I can see that she is just as confused as I am. Our fights never end this easily. Ever. She turns back to the blond and tilts her head, an action that never fails to make me smile.

"That's it?" Carly asks, unable to ignore her curiosity. "You don't have anything else to say?"

"Nope."

Carly and I look at each other one more time before separating. If I was being honest with myself, I feel a little disappointed that Sam had given up so easily. There's just no...closure. No screaming, or yelling, or pain. You know? I'm not a masochist or anything, but it just doesn't feel right if one of us gives up so easily.

I move to go back to the A/V cart, and right as I turn my back, she speaks again.

"Your opinion is stupid, though."

Aaaand there it is. The usual snide comment. My blood instantly began to boil, and I can hear it pump powerfully in my ears. I don't know why I let her drive me so crazy; I really don't. We've never cared all that much about each other, and frankly speaking, Carly is the only reason I even bother to be in the same room with her. I grit my teeth and run my hands through my hair, fighting to keep from shouting. All while ignoring the small sense of elation I feel in the bottom of my stomach, of course. "You know what? I don't even care. You have no idea how much work it takes to be me and do what I do."

A grin instantly slides onto her face. Fuck. "That sounds like a challenge, Benson."

She's looking at me with this aggravatingly smug glint in her eyes, and I already know how I'm going to answer.

"That's because it _is_."

"Here we go," Carly sighs, throwing up her hands.

Sam saunters up to me, poking a strong finger directly into my solar plexus. Ow. "Okay, Freduardo, how about this: What if you and me switch places for a week? You find out what it's like to be _cool_ for once, and I'll see what life is like at the scum covered bottom of the food chain."

My anger instantly evaporates, instead being replaced by an indescribable feeling of fear. What the hell? I couldn't be Sam._ No one_ could be Sam. Being 'cool' according to Sam meant ditching classes, rolling around in the mud, and just generally being an all around douchebag of a person. All Sam would have to do is act civilized for once. Somehow, this bet seemed to be largely in her favor.

The worst part, though, is that I can't back down. If I don't do this, she automatically wins, and if she wins, she'll never let me live it down. Chiz, she still brings up the time I accidentally wore my mother's blouse to school in the 6th grade. How was I supposed to know that girls had buttons on the left side of the shirt and guys had buttons on the right?

My lips twitch upwards as an idea pops into my mind. There was only one way to get her to back down, and it was full proof. "That's one webcast. We can't accurately judge each others' effectiveness in our new roles just from that. Two weeks would be better. No, a month!" This time, I can't stop my smirk. I know her. She'll never agree to be a 'nub' for a month.

"You want me to be a loser for a whole month? No way can I stand that!" she yells, her tough facade cracking for the first time. I have her.

"Don't think you can win?" I tease, grin widening at the panic steadily growing on her face.

She growls through clenched teeth and my smirk unconsciously drops. Uh-oh. "Know what? Fine. We switch places for a month and then Carls here will judge who did a better job of being the other person. You're on, Benson."

At the mention of her name, Carly's head snaps up from her phone. At some point during our fight, she'd plopped down on her own bright pink bean bag and started Splashfacing. Not that I could blame her. "Oh no, I'm not getting in the middle of this," the brunette says, waving her hands in front of her face.

"What if we get Spencer and Gibby to judge too? They're pretty unbiased," I offer.

She seems to consider this for a few seconds before deepening her frown. "Fine," she sighs, rolling her eyes like she's doing us the biggest favor in the world. "Why can't you two just agree to disagree like normal people?"

Sam's eyes twinkle with mischief. "Because he's wrong, that's why." The smug look on her face pisses me off. Stupid Sam. She spits in her hand and sticks it out at me. "So we got a deal or what?"

Frowning, I grab her hand and shake it. The slightly sticky wetness still grosses me out, but I'm used to it considering that we bet something at least twice a month. "Deal. Starting tomorrow, I become you and you become me. I hope you can give up pork for that long since I barely ever eat it," I smirk, taking delight in the mild flash of panic that flashes across her face.

"And I hope you enjoy spending extra time after school for detention three times a week. Don't worry, Benson, detentions don't show up when you apply for colleges. Just try not to get suspended, alright tough guy?" she says, slapping me on the cheek a couple of times to wipe off her spit before plopping back down on her beanbag chair.

I barely hold back a groan. I'd forgotten how often Sam got into trouble, which basically meant that now I'd have to get into trouble. Great.

"Benson, get me another Fatcake."

A brief wave of anger passes over me, but I go downstairs and get her one anyway, a small smirk on my face. It doesn't matter. Today is the last day for a month that she'll be able to boss me around.

Come tomorrow, I'd have my revenge.

**AN: Hmmm. Not super happy with this. Writing from someone's perspective is hard. I'm also not sure if I want to keep writing in present tense since I usually write in third person omniscient. Or whatever it's called, I never paid much attention in English**


	2. Chapter 2

**iTrade Places**

**AN: Hoping I'll hit my groove with this story soon, but who knows. Thanks for reviewing, it means a lot since I'm unsure about how my writing style meshes with this fandom.**

**Chapter 2**

Yuck.

I look at myself in the mirror with something akin to disgust. I miss my leather jacket, my boots, and my clothes that actually have some semblance of style.

If you hold a gun to my head, I _might_ admit that Freddie's style has gotten better over the years. He's stopped wearing those dorky khakis in favor of jeans and chinos, and those weird posture fixing clonkers he used to wear on his feet were replaced by regular sneakers. I especially like his transition from Polo's to button ups and t-shirts, though since he'd actually grown a bit, his old Polo's actually look decent on him now.

But I'll only admit that if you hold a gun to my head, and even then I'll probably refuse and hope that the bullet misses my brain.

Contrary to what everyone thinks, I don't hate him. He's a good guy. A great guy, even. He's really helped me out a lot over the years. Like the time he got rid of Carly's bitch of a former best friend, Missy, by giving away his cruise vacation. After that, I'd started using my right arm to punch him and decreased the amount of power in my punches from 75% to 50%. See? I'm not entirely ungrateful.

That still doesn't change how ridiculously nubby he is. I've never seen someone get a hard-on just from touching a Red One High Definition Camcorder. I'm not exaggerating, either. I secretly took a picture of it with my phone and am just waiting for the perfect time to spread it around.

A smirk appears on my face as I see the 3D glasses I'd stolen from the movie theater the week before and a plan begins to form in the back of my mind. I pop the lenses out of the glasses and put them on, my grin widening at how incredibly dorky they make me look. Oh, this was gonna be good.

The trek to school is a strange one. I usually get at least an appreciative glance or two on my worst day, and I'm pretty sure I caused a car accident the day I wore Carly's old denim cutoffs and a tanktop to school. But walking to Ridgeway in a loose polo shirt, knee length khaki skirt, and sneakers, it was like I was invisible. It's not that I'm _upset_ that guys aren't sizing me up like a piece of meat, but I'm not exactly thrilled about being ignored, either.

I walk into Ridgeway and immediately find my best friend at her locker, texting furiously. There must be some sort of drama going on if her concentrated frown is any indication. "Hey Carls."

She turns from her locker and glances at me with a quick smile before turning back to her phone. "Oh, hey, S–" Her head snaps back up to stare at me, eyes wide and mouth falling open. I laugh at her shocked expression. "_Sam?! _You look..."

"Like a nub?"

When she laughs, I can't help but smile. Mission accomplished. On instinct, I reach into Carly's backpack for my breakfast, smile widening when my hand clasps around a warm ziploc bag.

"Um, what are you doing?" she asks, fixing me with a glare.

I raise an eyebrow. "Getting my breakfast."

"Sam, that's for Freddie."

"Excuse me?"

"You switched places, remember? I bring him bacon in the morning now, not you."

My jaw drops a little, but a few seconds later, I smirk. "Real funny, Carls. Give mama the bacon now."

"I think you mean, papa." A hand snatches the baggie from my fingertips. It takes me a few seconds, but I realize what happened and turn around to glare at the offender- only to be met with an amused pair of dark brown eyes.

"Freddie?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise at the taller, seemingly more broad shouldered geek staring at Carly.

He completely ignores me and opens the baggie, grabbing a handful of pork. "Thanks for the grub, Carls." He slides a piece of bacon into his mouth and chews, rolling his eyes and groaning appreciatively. I can't tell if he's actually enjoying it or if he's just mocking me.

I gave her a look that clearly screamed 'Are you seeing this?!', but judging by the dumbstruck look on her face, she was a goner. Typical Carly.

As much as it pains me, though, I have to admit that he does look sort of cool. His hair lacks the usual ten pounds of hair product that he usually wears and it instead hangs down over his eyes, somehow maintaining it's boyish fluffiness. A dirty looking bicycle chain rests around his neck and pools on his clavicles, and he wears a simple black v-neck with grey jeans–altogether a decent outfit.

The things that really impresses me are his leather jacket and boots. Mama loves her leather, and even without touching or smelling it I can tell that it's real just by the irregular pattern of the pores and the rough edges at the seams. I don't know where he got them, but they look magnificently, authentically worn, almost liked they'd actually seen part of the 1980's hardcore punk movement. My eyes glance appreciatively over the buttons pinned to the label: The Germs, Bad Brains, Dirty Rotten Imbeciles–all bands that I'd grown up on and listened to on a daily basis.

How the hell did he even hear of these guys? No one in my group of 'cool' friends–save Wendy, who only listens to them when I force her to–knew who they were, and yet somehow Benson had what looks like vintage paraphernalia? I bite my lip, resisting the urge to start gushing and fangirling right there in the hallway. No way that jacket belongs to him. I'd have to ask him what thrift shop he snapped it up from later.

He swallows and slides his eyes over to look at me. "Hey, Puckett. You're looking especially dorky today," he sneers, stepping directly into my personal space.

I blink up at him, annoyed by how much taller he is than me. Since he was wearing boots and I was wearing sneakers, our height difference was even more pronounced than usual. Honestly, that was one of the reasons I started wearing boots in the first place. I couldn't stand the fact that he had grown a few inches taller than me. Call it superficial or whatever, but _you_ try intimidating a guy four inches taller than you. The fact that they make my legs and butt look amazing is just an added bonus.

So, Benson wants to act like a bad boy. Two can play that game.

I push my pastic glasses up on my nose and stick out my two front teeth, straightening my back to the point of awkwardness. "Why, thank you, Freddie. It's because I spent all night using the theory of relativity to predict the chances that Carly would love me back. The answer I came up with is that it'll never happen. Ever." My voice is appropriately nasally as I fully commit to the act of the stereotypical loser-nerd.

The annoyance that flashes across his face makes my heart beat faster in my chest, and I defiantly meet his narrowed brown eyes with a smirk. I love the rush that comes with teasing Freddie. I'd even go as far as saying that I was addicted to it. "First of all, that doesn't make sense, and second of all, If you don't take this seriosuly, you lose. Tell him, Carly." he whines, dropping his act.

His sudden change in personality apparently snaps the brunette out of her boy lust. "Freddie's right, Sam. That was the deal."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Fine, I'll lose the glasses." Suddenly, my eyes catch the familiar gait of Ms. Briggs, and I feel a smile spread across my face as I remember the main reason I came up with this stupid bet in the first place. "But Freddie has to harrass Briggs."

He looks over at Carly for help, but she just shrugs and nods. "That _is_ something Sam would do."

Freddie groans and reluctantly turns towards the teacher. "Hey, Briggs!" he yells, voice faltering slightly. Oh, this is gonna be good. She turns away from the teacher she's talking to and looks at him, and I can't help the grin that pops up on my face. Judging by the confused smile on her face, she doesn't suspect a thing.

"Yes, Fredward?"

"Your...your butt looks especially big today!"

I can't help it; I laugh. It isn't what he'd said that really tickles me. That part was lame. No, it was actually the combination of the look of absolute fear on Freddie's face and the shock plastered all over Briggs' that got to me.

"Freward Benson!" she shrieks, storming up to him. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I'll see you in detention at 3:15pm sharp!"

By now, I'm full on guffawing. I knew this bet would have its perks, but I didn't think they would be this great.

"Happy, Puckett?" he snaps as she stalks off, only making me laugh harder.

"You have no idea, Freddie." It feels weird to call him by his name so often. I usually only call him by his preferred name once a day If he's lucky. Usually, it's some other variation like Freduardo, Freddison, Freddork, Fredweird...you get the idea. Lately, I've been using a lot Benson more. It feels sort of childish for me to use the other ones seriously.

He looks down his nose at me, once again assembling his 'Sam' persona. He reaches into his backpack and hands me a spiral bound notebook. "Here," he says, thrusting the notebook into my hands.

"What's this?"

"You have A/V club today. I wrote up some notes so that you wouldn't look like a _complete_ idiot in there."

I growl up at him, smirking inwardly when his smug look instantly fell. Even if we've supposedly switched places, I can still intimidate him easily. Still, I don't know whether to be annoyed or thankful, so I simply decide to roll my eyes.

"Cheese and crackers! Thanks, Freddie!"

Carly crosses her arms, frowning at me. I don't know if she was trying to intimidate me or not, but it was like looking at an angry puppy. "Sam..."

"I know, I know." I slam my locker after grabbing my books. Ugh. Books. How did people carry these around all day? "Later Carls. _Freddie_."

"You mean Carly, right?" Freddie asks. I can practically feel his smirk.

I shoot him my meanest glare. "Seriously? You're even taking the nickname?" I look at Carly, but as usual, she's no help. She shrugs helplessly and nods, leaving me wondering if she wasn't still blinded by how awesome Freddie's leather jacket is. Because that was the only thing impressive about him. "Fine. Later, _Carly_." I hadn't called her Carly since we met, and it feels weird rolling off of my tongue.

Right afterwards, Freddie brushes past me and walks towards his first class. "See you later Sammy, _Carls_."

_Sammy?_ I feel a growl develop deep in my throat. No one calls me Sammy except for my mom, and she only does it to annoy me. That son of a bitch.

He was having a bit too much fun being me.

**AN: This was originally one huge chapter, but I decided to cut it up between POVs. 2k words seems like enough for a chapter**


	3. Chapter 3

**iTrade Places**

**AN: Moving right along! Thanks for the reviews guys, makes me know it's not completely horrible.**

**Chapter 3**

**Freddie POV **

The Galaxy Wars theme blasts from the speakers of my alarm clock, snapping me awake in seconds. I'd been dreaming about something good, but whatever it was was gone in seconds. Ugh. Figures.

I stumble out of bed and drag myself over to my closet to pull out a blue Polo, and it's not until it's halfway over my head that I remembered I was supposed to be Sam for a month. What kinds of things did Sam wear?

I pull out a piece of paper and begin to list the things that I think of when I think of Sam. Boots. Jeans, Sneakers, Leather jacket. Edgy accessories. Low-cut shirts. I quickly erase that last one, feeling a little disgusted by the thought of Sam's cleavage. Because, ew. Sam's cleavage.

I grab a pair of grey jeans and a black V-neck (hey, if I was going to be Sam, man cleavage was a necessity) out of my closet and toss them on my bed. A good start, but where was I going to find boots and a leather jacket? I flop back on my bed to think, letting loose a loud sigh. I'd have take a trip to the store to buy what I need, but the thought of dropping two hundred bucks on a stupid bet doesn't seem worth it. Especially since I'm saving that money up for a new sound effects pack to enhance iCarly.

My eyes glance over to the photograph resting on my bedstand, and shortly afterwards, they widen. I nearly fall off of the bed in my attempt to grab it. It's a picture of my dad, who was holding me up in the air and smiling at me. In it, he wore the absolute coolest jacket and a pair of mirrored aviator shades. Of course!

"Mom!" I yell, jumping up from the bed and running into the living room. "Mom!"

Barely two seconds later she rushes out of her room, eyes wild and crazy. "Fredward? What's wrong?!"

"Do you still have all of dad's old stuff?"

She places a hand on her heart to calm down and looks at me suspiciously. "Why?"

Oh, here we go. How could I spin this in a way that would convince her to let me have his stuff? "Well, I was thinking–I want to get closer to my dad. You know, walk in his shoes a bit." Literally.

Her face morphs into a sad smile, and I worry that she's going to start crying. "Oh, Freddiebear, that's wonderful! I knew you'd be curious about your father one day, but I never thought it'd be so soon!"

I feel guilty for a second, because honestly? I don't want to know more about him. Not yet. Not while I still..."So, the stuff?"

She takes a second to think. "It's in the attic."

"Thanks mom!" I rush down the hallway and head towards the guest bedroom. It takes a few seconds, but I eventually find the string that leads to the attic and pull down the stairs. A bit of dust falls on my face, but I pay it no mind since I'm on a mission.

I scale the steps three at a time, slipping into the small crawl space. I'd only been up here two or three times before–mostly because my mom used to believe Spencer's story about beavecoons in the airvents and wouldn't let me up there.

My eyes light up as they land on what I'm looking for. Grabbing the trunk, I drag it down the steps and open it. A grin flitters it's way onto my face as I pull out a pair of old, scuffed up boots. They were size larger than what I wear, but I figured they'd get the job done. I continue digging through the trunk, marveling at all of the amazing things inside. There were old records, concert ticket stubs, necklaces, dirty bandanas, leather bracelets, photographs, and–hell yes–a leather jacket!

I pull it out and try it on, ignoring the guilt. Amazingly, it fits me almost perfectly. My eyes land on an old photograph of my my mom and dad, surrounded by what must be their friends–people my mother never spoke of or have given any indication that she even knew.

Now, I'd seen old pictures of my mother, but never like this. Never in fishnets, leather boots, and bright red lipstick. Her blue eyes stared straight at the camera, piercing and bright. A mischievous smirk tugged at her lips, and though it was weird to think, she reminds me of a certain other evil, blue eyed girl I know. Oh, great, now I'm picturing Sam trying to give me a bi-weekly tick baths. Ugh.

I shift my gaze to my dad, and well...he looks like me. I mean, I kind of knew that before since I had to inherit my eyes and admittedly cocky smile from someone, but this picture really drove home the fact that he was my father. I took note of the things he was wearing; leather bracelets, a bandana around his forehead, and what looked like a short bike chain hanging from his neck and resting on his collarbones.

There was no way I was going to wear a bandana, but I definitely didn't mind mimicking everything else, including his hairstyle. It basically looked like he just put no effort into it, so it shouldn't be too hard. I'm halfway there already.

I don't have a lot of time to really look through everything, so I close the trunk, slide it under the guest bed, and slip off to my room with my new treasures. I put on my shirt, jeans, and socks first, and right after that, I pull on my dad's jacket and boots. A quick glance at the mirror shows that I look...cool. I practice glaring and sneering, and amazingly, it makes me look even cooler. Geez, I might be able to pull this off after all.

It's weird to think about how much clothing can change a person. I mean, they're just pieces of cloth. Why does a leather jacket suddenly make you a badass?

A beeping from my alarm clock alerts me to the fact that I only have fifteen minutes to get to school. Yes, I set multiple alarms in the morning. I like to be safe and efficient. I grab my backpack and jog towards the front door.

Right as I place my hand on the doorknob, I hear a gasp. "Mom?" She holds her hand over her mouth, struggling not to cry. The tears pooling in her eyes worry me, and I quickly turn to face her. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Freddie..." she whispers. "You look just like him."

I don't know what to say to that, and luckily, I'm in a rush so I don't have to say much. I shoot her my nicest grin. "Thanks. Bye, mom."

I consider seeing if Carly is home, but I feel like that's something Freddie would do. Sam wouldn't pine incessantly over someone she couldn't have. Unless you counted the world's fattest priest. Which I don't. Instead, I shrug and walk towards the stairs.

My walk to school is...interesting, to say the least. I don't know if I'm just more aware of things because of what I'm wearing, but I'm noticing a lot more appreciative glances from girls. I also notice some nervous glances from older people. Neat.

By the time I get to school, I'm fully immersed in my role as Sam. My back is slouched, boots are scuffing the ground, and I have a permanent scowl. I see the girls by their lockers and swagger over, stealing Sam's bacon and trading quips back and forth. I'm actually having a good time until Sam forces me to call Ms. Briggs' butt big. Well, okay, the big butt part was all me, but she put me on the spot!

Unsurprisingly, I get a detention. It isn't my first since Sam has gotten me in trouble a few times before, but it's still kind of a bummer to have to waste an hour sitting in a classroom doing nothing.

The day seems to pass slower than usual, maybe because I spend most of my time doodling rather than doing actual work. Part of the bet was that I had to blow off pretty much all of my work. The best grade I was allowed to get on anything was a C, and I planned on getting an exact 79 on every single test. Really, I'm not too worried about my GPA. I'm pulling High A's in all of my classes so far, and the minute the bet is off I'll beg all of my teachers for extra credit. Hopefully a month of slacking won't derail me too much.

One of the upsides of not having to pay attention in class is that I got to catch up on sleep. I'd spent all night writing up notes to help Sam out–I hate her, but I don't want her to look like a complete idiot–but by lunch, I'm as good as new. I slink towards the cafeteria and find Carly.

I plop down on the chair in what I think is a very Sam-like way, boldly grabbing a couple of Carly's fries. "Sup Carls," I muffle out around a mouthful of potato. I then stuff my mouth with a bite of my ham and cheese sandwich, feeling a little sick because of how fast I'm eating. Ugh. I don't know how Sam can eat so much of this stuff. I'm still on my first sandwich and I'm already stuffed. Worst, this isn't even half of what I have to eat.

The brunette smirks at me and shakes her head. "You're really getting into this whole being Sam thing, aren't you?"

I shrug my shoulders and grab a Fatcake out of my jacket pocket, tearing the wrapper open with my teeth. "There's no way I'm losing this stupid bet. I don't care how many of these disgusting sugar bombs I have to stuff down my throat." To emphasize my point, I take a huge bite out of it, wincing at the taste. It tastes like strawberries and pure cane sugar. Just one month, Freddie. You can do this.

Sam suddenly appears in the seat next to Carly, sitting down and pulling out two apples. "Hey Freddie, hey Caaaarly," she sighs, fluttering her eyelashes and clasping her hands as she says Carly's name.

"Sam," Carly warns, giving the blonde her famously ineffective glare.

I frown and gesture towards Sam with my Fatcake, accidentally splattering her mouth with a few flecks of cream filling. Unsurprisingly, her little pink tongue instantly darts out to lick it up. "See? She's not taking this seriously at all! Let's just call this whole thing off and say that I win."

"What? That's totally what Freddie does! He practically sings your name every time he says it!"

"I do not! It's just a nice name. It really rolls off of the tongue." And it does. I mean, just say it out loud. Carly. CARly. CarLY. Caaarly. It's beautiful, and I'm not just saying that because I used to have a crush on her, either.

"_Now_ who's the one not taking this seriously? He's still acting like a lovestruck nub!"

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am no–" Before I can finish the word, Carly stands up with her tray and shoulders her backpack, frowning at the both of us. "You two completely lack the ability to understand each other. Find someone else to judge, I'm out of this bet."

"Carls, wait," I say, still finding it awkward to use that nickname. It doesn't roll off the tongue like Carly does.

Sam glares at me and then turns a pleading gaze on her best friend. "We'll be serious. _I'll_ be serious. Okay?"

Carly places her tray back down on the table and sits, huffing at both of them. "You'd better. I'm not going to suffer through this stupid bet with you two for nothing."

I can tell that Sam wants to say something smartass, but I shoot her a warning frown. She frowns back and shuts her mouth, grabbing her apple to take a huge, angry bite out of it.

After lunch, the rest of the day seems to fly by. It sees like only five minutes have passed before the final bell rings, and I groan out loud.

"Ready to waste an hour of your life in detention, Freddie?" Sam asks from the desk behind me, sounding ridiculously smug.

"Ready to actually learn something in A/V club, Puckett?" I can't help it; I grin. I haven't yet mastered the art of cool indifference that Sam seems to do so well, but the grin is effective enough as she scoffs and glances away.

I'm finishing up tossing my unopened books into my bag when she suddenly grabs the sleeve of my jacket and leans in a little too close for comfort. "Look, dude, don't feel like you have to be me in there. Just get through detention and get out."

I blink slowly, staring into her furrowed blue eyes. I don't know what to think. Was Sam actually..._worried_ about me? Sam _never_ worried about me. There must be some sort of angle here. A slow grin appears on my face as something occurs to me: She's trying to make me back down.

I bet she already has a mole waiting there for me to slip up and play it safe like I'd normally do. "Nice try, Puckett. You don't think I can be you. You're trying to make me throw this thing."

A loud sigh erupts from her throat, and the grip on her backpack strap tightens. "I'm not messing around, Benson. Don't do anything stupid. You're prone to excessive bleeding, remember?"

I'm actually a little amazed that she remembers that, since even I forget most of the time. Then again, she probably only remembers because it has to do with bodily harm. "It's Freddie, and that's what _I _should be saying to _you_. Try not to burn the A/V clubroom down."

I turn around and walk out of the classroom before she can say another word, nonchalantly leaving her behind like she does to me so often. God, does it feel good to be the one in charge.

Since Mr. Howard is doing detention today, I have to walk clear across the school to get to his classroom and can't spend any time socializing. Annoyingly, I get there a full five minutes early. Good to know how long it takes to get there, I guess.

I slide into the desk at the front, but out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar face texting in the back of the classroom. A familiar face who just happens to be pretty good friends with Sam and is probably the mole I'm looking for: Wendy.

I groan, but stand up again. I can do this. I can be Sam. I pick up my bag and move to sit in the desk next to the redhead, figuring that Sam would do the same if she were here.

"What goes on, Wendy?"

Her head snaps up from her phone, and she doesn't even try to hide her surprised stare. "Freddie Benson? What are _you_ doing here? Where's Sam?"

I give her what I hope is a suitably Sam-like glare. "As if you don't know," I scoff.

She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head, obviously confused but completely unintimidated. Huh. Maybe she really doesn't know. "What's with you two? You're wearing a leather jacket and Sam's wearing a polo and khakis. Did you switch places or something?"

Bingo. "Nah," I lie, shrugging my shoulders. "Why are you here?"

"Oh." A distinctly proud grin appears on her face, and she leans forward to whisper something in my ear. "I allegedly let the air out of Howard's tires."

"Did you?"

Her grin widens. "Allegedly."

"Beats what I did. I just told Briggs that she had a huge ass." Hey, it's not a total lie. I did say some variation of that.

She laughs and stares at me with a smile for another few seconds, but then her eyes drop to my chest. She fingers one of the band buttons on my lapel and raises her eyebrows. "Where'd you get the jacket?"

"It was my dad's. So were the boots, and this necklace. He died when I was a toddler, and I'm tryin' to get closer to him, you know? Walk in his boots for awhile," I grin, unable to resist making the joke. It was sort of a lie, and it made me feel like a heel, but whatever. It was more important that people actually believed Sam and I had changed.

"That's sweet." She smiles at me with this strange expression, and I blink. Uh. What?

Okay, I'm not going to pretend that I know everything about the sublte interactions between boys and girls, but there's definitely some sort of tension between us. Her fingers are still on my jacket, and she has yet to lean back into her own seat.

The moment–if it can even be called that–is interrupted by a steady stream of what I presume to be the detention regulars. They make a beeline towards the back where Wendy and I are. I can feel their stares on me, and judging by the slightly worried frown on Wendy's face, she can too. She finally leans back into her seat as Mr. Howard strides into the room, arms crossed and bald head shining with tiny beads of sweat. He looks around the room and frowns at us.

"Well, another week, another group of scoundrels. No new faces today, I see." His face morphs from disappointment to surprise as his eyes land on me, and I pray that he doesn't single me out. No such luck. "Mr. Benson? Why are you here?" He glances down at his notebook. "Insulting a teacher. Sounds like something Samantha Puckett would do. Always a shame when a good student gets dragged down by bad friends." He shakes his head and looks around at us again.

"You know the drill. Sit down, shut up, and think about what you've done. No phones, no music, no laptops, no nothing. If you want to do something to pass the time, do your homework. I'll be checking in randomly to make sure you're all doing what you're supposed to. If I catch any of you doing something you're_ not_ supposed to, that's another full week of detention." With that, he birskly walks out of the room.

The door closes, and literally five seconds later, Mr. Howard pokes his head into the room to glare at us. Weird guy. When he leaves this time, the entire classroom moves. Which wouldn't be so bad if they didn't all move in my direction.

"Hey, Benson. Don't see you around here much," Skip grins, sitting on the desk in front of me. What I can only assume are his cronies surround me, each of them staring at me with that infuriating grin of theirs.

Oh crap. Okay. Calm down, what would Sam do? I stare straight ahead, glaring at no one as I think, but it seems I take too long to answer as he suddenly leans forward.

"C'mon, Benson, don't be so cold. We're all friends here." He placed his hand on my shoulder, thumb feeling the leather of my jacket. "Nice jacket, by the way. Mind if I try it on?"

Frowning, I shrug it off. "I do, actually."

He kicks the chair his feet were resting on down to stand up, and it is only through sheer willpower that I don't jump. Thank God I'm used to Sam doing things like this or I'm sure I'd be on hanging onto the ceiling right now.

Wendy stands up and frowns. "Skip, stop it. Let's just get through detention without causing a scene for once, alright?"

A smug smirk appears on his face. "What, you got a little crush on this dork now that he's in a leather jacket?"

The redhead averts her gaze. Interesting. Or at least it would be if I wasn't currently trying to avoid having my face smashed in. He snorts when she doesn't say anything and turns back to me.

"Let me try it on."

I get to my feet and notice with some pride that I'm only an inch shorter than he is. Thanks, dad's boots. "I said, _no_."

He suddenly aims a punch at my face, and before I myself know what I'm doing, I take a step back and dodge it. It's weird, but somehow, his punches are...slow. I see the surprise in his eyes at missing me, and he aims another at my chin. Again, I sidestep it, and thinking quickly, I push him back into his desk. He falls over it onto his back, and for a second, I worry that I've seriously hurt him.

I glance over at Wendy to see that her eyes are wide and her mouth is hanging open. Unfortunately, that's all it takes for Skip to clock me right in the jaw. How the hell had he managed to get up that fast?

I'm expecting an explosion of pain, but there's nothing except a dull tightening on the side of my face. My eyes are still spinning a bit, and I barely manage to avoid another vicious right. The missed punch puts him off balance, and I seize my chance.

Pooling all of my limited fighting knowledge together, I form my hand into a fist and slam it into his left eye. Since he was already teetering on one foot, he knocks into Wendy's desk and falls to the ground, making the punch look much, _much_ more impressive than it really was.

"Freddie..." Wendy murmurs, staring at me with a mixture of shock and awe. I won't lie; I feel pretty damn proud of myself. My first official fight and I knock the guy down.

I hold out my hand for him to grab it, hoping he'll take it and decide not to bash my head in. He glares at me, but after a few seconds, he takes it and lets me help him up. "I'm not losing my dad's jacket. It's one of the few things I have left of him. We cool?" I ask, making sure to keep from wincing. Oh, there's the pain. I guess the adrenaline wore off.

He glares angrily, but after a few tense seconds, he nods and claps me on the shoulder. "Nice moves, Benson."

The crowd breaks up disappointedly and returns to their desks and I feel it's safe enough to let loose a sigh of relief. I get to live.

I'm amazed at the amount of respect people have for dead family members. I guess everyone knows that feeling since most people have lost someone special to them, even if it was something as small as a pet.

Wendy leans over to talk to me, grabbing my forearm to get my attention. "Since when can you fight?" she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.

I shrug slightly, not really sure what the answer is myself. "I fence every weekend, and I guess if you can avoid a long, skinny sword, you can avoid a fist."

"Where do you fence? I'd like to watch you fight sometime."

"I'm actually taking a break for awhile." Which was true, but in reality, I just wasn't allowed to do it for the duration of the bet. Sam had made it quite clear that fencing was for nerds. If only she could see me now.

Wendy's face fell a little. "Oh, alright."

"I'm going to the Groovy Smoothie after this. You should come with me." I don't really know why I asked her, but something in her expression told me not to pass this up.

I was rewarded with a bright, happy smile, and I instantly knew that I'd made the right decision. "Sure! And it'd be a good idea to get some ice for your face while we're there," she grins.

I want to smile back, but instead I simply nod and smirk. Play it cool, Freddie. "Cool." In the span of eight hours, I'd eaten my weight in ham, gotten into a fist fight, and asked Wendy out on a date. It was only the first day and I'd done three things I'd have never done as myself. What the hell was I getting myself into?

**AN: I think it makes sense that Freddie's reflexes would be pretty good compared ot the average person. Fighting is really about reaction time. People get hit because they're too shocked/too slow to process the trajectory of the fist FLYING AT THEIR FACE.**


	4. Chapter 4

**iTrade Places**

**Disclaimer: Did I ever say I didn't own this? I don't remember. Or, hey, maybe I'm actually Dan Schneider. **

**Chapter 4**

**Sam POV**

A/V club is the pits. How Freddie can stand to be surrounded by such loserish nubs for two hours two days a week is beyond me.

It was funny in the beginning. When I first walked in, the amount of fear on the nerds' faces was . However, once i'd greeted them all and got them talking about the newest Pear Phone–which was only .37 inches longer than the previous one–they quickly forgot that I was even in the room.

The one bright spot of this club is that Shane, Freddie's weirdly hot tech buddy, is in it. The technobabble doesn't sound so bad when it's coming from sexy boy lips.

"What do you think, Sam?" he asks, looking over at me.

Oh. Chiz. I'd been so busy starting at his lips that I hadn't been paying even the slightest bit of attention to the conversation. "Uh...yeah, sounds cool," I shrug, hoping the answer works. They stare blankly at me and I resist the urge to wince. Guess I chose wrong.

"You think it's cool that the founder of Pear, Job Stevenson, died?" one of the girls asks, voice raising in pitch with each word. She's a thin, mousy girl with large glasses and big green eyes. Her short brown hair just barely reaches her chin, and if it weren't for her ridiculous sweater vest and oxfords, she'd actually look pretty normal.

She looks like she's about to cry, which surprises me a bit. None of them knew the guy personally, so it's not really worth being all that sad over it. Then again, if Wallace T. Fathkech––the man who invented the Fatcake––died, I might shed a tear or two.

The girl frowns and crosses her arms, glaring at me as if she's at all intimidating. "Why are you here, anyway? I mean, this isn't really your scene. No offense."

I resist the urge to slap the glasses off of her face. "I want to learn more about technology because I think this stuff is interesting." I'm obviously lying through my teeth, but Shane doesn't appear to notice as he grins and leans towards me.

"Then you're in the right place! By the way, where's Freddie?"

I avert my gaze. I haven't really thought of how to explain his sudden change in wardrobe and interests, and now it was coming back to bite me in the ass. "Oh, uh. He's not feeling well. He'll probably be sick for a month."

"I just saw him earlier and he looked fine," one of the other nerds pipes up from the front of the room. I'd slam his head into a desk if I wasn't supposed to be acting like a weak, stupid nub.

Officially annoyed, I throw up my hands and roll my eyes. "He's sick, alright?!"

"Okay, okay," Shane murmurs, grin still on his face. Man, he's beautiful. "Why don't I help you get caught up a bit? We're discussing the next generation of phones coming out soon and their impact on the web and social media."

I shrug my shoulders, not at all interested in the subject but definitely interested in the one who's going to be discussing it. "Yeah, sure. So...what does this club even do besides argue about which phone has more gigabytes than the other?" I ask, unable to resist slipping in a snide comment.

"We basically do everything. Fix school computers, help teachers set up projectors, boring stuff. For activities we discuss new technology, dissect and build machines, and every semester we make a movie."

This piques my interest. I'm all about movies––even those stupid sappy romance movies that Carly makes me watch. Cinematography has always sort of interested me, but I'll never admit it to anyone. "Make a movie?"

Shane nods, a move that does wonderful things to his bangs. "Yeah, with the drama club. We rehearse with them on Wednesdays and shoot on Saturdays. Though if Freddie's not gonna be here, we may have to choose someone to take over his job."

Huh. So that's where Freddie went on Saturdays. I'd never cared enough to ask, and he'd never cared enough to tell. Well, not enough to tell me, anyway. I'm sure Carly knows all about his little side hobby.

"That actually sounds pretty cool."

"It is. Actually, do you wanna see the last few movies we made?"

"Sure."

"How about Thursday? There's no club that day, so we'll have the room to ourselves."

To be completely honest, I'm not that interested. I mean, how good could a movie made by a bunch of nerds be? On the other hand, who am to turn down a movie date with a hot guy? He hadn't called it a date, but I know how to read between the lines. At least I hope I'm interpreting it correctly. Two teenagers of the opposite sex in a dark room alone together? What else am I supposed to think?

After that, the club went by rather quickly. We played a weird trivia game that I miraculously won–something that I blamed on my amazing memory and Freddie's incessant chatter about technology–and then went over roles for Wednesday's filming. Since I was new, I got to opt out for the week and left while they argued over who was going to replace Freddie in whatever stupid thing he did.

Carly lives pretty close to the school, so barely five minutes later I'm opening the door to her apartment. "Hey Carls–uh, Carly." Ugh. It feels weird to call her that.

She's busy cooking something delicious on the stove, and it takes me milliseconds to realize that she's frying up some bacon. She knows me so well. "Hi! How was A/V club?"

"Alright," I mumble, floating over to look over her shoulder. I snatch a piece of bacon from the plate and shove it into my mouth before she can stop me.

"Sam! That's for Freddie! If you want something to eat, get an apple or something. That's what Freddie usually eats."

I can't stop the groan that slips out of my throat. I've already eaten two apples today, so I instead decide to walk over and plop down on the couch. "So what am I supposed to do until rehearsal?"

Carly shrugs. "Freddie usually goes upstairs and starts setting up the equipment, so you could do that."

I groan again but stand up. Might as well, since the smell of bacon that I can't eat is slowly driving me insane. I trudge up the stairs and enter the iCarly studio. I'm not sure what to do first, but a yellow legal pad catches my eye. On it is a checklist of things that I need to do, and there are even sticky notes on everything so that I can tell what's what.

I'm briefly touched by this gesture, but after a few seconds, I reason that Freddie didn't do this for me. He was doing this for iCarly and his precious equipment. I guess he doesn't want me to screw anything up too badly.

The first item on the list is to turn on the computer and load all of the software. Easy enough. The second item is to connect the camera and overhead microphones to the computer. This takes some doing since I have to find the right cords, but eventually I get them hooked up.

Most of the stuff on the list isn't really hard to do, but it's extremely time consuming trying to find the right ports and connectors. I also had to climb a ladder to check the lights and search the room for my trusty blue remote so that I could upload new sound effects. It didn't help that I'd randomly flung it somewhere after the last show.

After nearly forty five minutes straight of work, I want nothing more than to curl up in a corner somewhere and go to sleep. Who knew being a nub was so exhausting?

It's not until my stomach growls noisily that I go back downstairs to grab a snack. "Hey Carly, can I have that apple?"

The brunette looks away from her computer long enough to raise one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows at me. "It's so weird to hear you actually ask for something. Sure, go ahead."

I open the fridge and start to grab an apple, but something about it's shiny red surface makes me want to vomit. I instead decide to open the freezer and grab a bright green popsicle before sitting down on the stool unhappily. I miss my meat something fierce.

I'm licking the last of the juice from my popsicle stick when Freddie walks through the door, and I feel my heart skip a beat as my eyes land on his face. A large, purple bruise was just beginning to form under his eye, and in a few hours, it'd be horrendous.

Before I know it, I'm off of my stool and across the room. "Dude, who did this to you?!" I ask, grabbing his face in my hands. I'm actually a little surprised that it's just the one bruise. It couldn't have been much of a fight. Heck, he probably just ran into a door something. that was much more likely. "Carly, give me some peas!" Without even asking what I need them for, she runs to the fridge.

He pulls away from my hands and smirks down at me. "Papa don't like peas." I instantly feel my sympathy lessen at his piss poor attempt at being me. It sounds so much sleazier when a guy does it.

"It's not for you to eat, Freddie, it's for your face." Carly jogs back over to us and hands me a package of frozen corn which I immediately place against his swelling cheek. "So, who did this? And why are you grinning like an id–uh, incredibly...cool guy," I finish lamely. It's hard not insulting the nub.

"Skip Peters," he shrugs, causing my rage to flare up. "Sam, you're hurting my face."

"Sorry. Just thinking of the best way to kill him." When he raises his eyebrows, I realize how incredibly Samlike I sound. Or maybe it was un-Samlike, since I was willing to fight for him. I know it sounds weird, but it bothers me when other people pick on Freddie. He's my territory, you know? And I don't like people encroaching on my territory. It's a moot point either way since he pushes past me and plops down on the couch, placing his boots on the coffee table.

"I don't need your protection, Puckett. I handled it myself."

I feel myself smirk. "You? Handled Skip Peters?"

He shrugs and nods, placing his hands behind his head. "Yeah, we came to an agreement. He's not that tough."

"I don't like this. You don't get into fights, Freddie. It's not you," Carly frowns, moving over to stand in front of him.

Freddie shrugs his shoulders again. "I know. It's Sam."

"Way to make me feel bad," I murmur, briefly glancing at the ground. "But seriously, what's with the grin? You that happy to be alive?"

If it's even possible, his face breaks out into a wider smile. "I just got back from a date. With Wendy."

My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. "Wendy? Former delinquent turned gossip girl delinquent? My Wendy?"

Apparently Carly doesn't share my disbelief as she squeals and jumps up and down. "That's awesome, Freddie! Wendy's a great girl!"

His smile suddenly lessens. "Yeah, she's cool." He flips over the corn and places it against his cheek again. "Doesn't rehearsal start in a few minutes? We should get upstairs."

He walks over and grabs a few pieces of the cold bacon, and I feel myself drool. Lucky jerk. As I watch him eat my bacon, I feel myself begin to grow angry.

I don't know why I'm so upset. Wait, actually I do. Freddie has cool clothes, had gotten into a fight, and had a hot date while all I'd done was not eat meat and slog my way through A/V club. I'm not getting anything out of this bet and he is. Maybe it was because he was actually trying his best to be me and I wasn't trying at all to be him.

But what were the advantages of being Freddie Benson? Were there any? I don't care about grades, or going to college, or eating healthy, or anything else he thinks is important. This bet is jank as hell.

Rehearsal went horribly. As expected, Freddie was stiff and unfunny, and it was surprisingly hard to keep a camera steady for longer than ten minutes before my arms started to get tired. I also had a hard time remembering which button did what, so unless we did some hardcore practicing, our next iCarly webcast would be a disaster.

After turning off all the equipment, I don't bother to stick around. Looking at Freddie's face annoys me, and Carly's incessant harping about his stupid date with Wendy makes me want to punch something. It's not until I get downstairs that I make my decision. If he can be me, I can be him, and I know just the person to help me do that.

I stride purposefully across the hall and knock on the door, and a few seconds later Freddie's mom opens the door. She frowns down at me, crossing her arms. "May I help you, Samantha?"

"Yeah, can I come in?" I ask, trying to look as non-Sam as possible.

She seems surprised by my politeness and ushers me in, still staring at me suspiciously. "What can I help you with?"

"I want you to teach me how to be like Freddie," I mumble, still unable to believe that I'm going to her of all people.

She blinks a few times and cocks her head. "Excuse me?"

"You know, how to have manners, good posture, how to look presentable, all that chiz. I mean, stuff."

"What brought this on? Is it a boy?" she asks, the tiniest of smiles appearing on her face.

I frown at her assumption, remembering the last time I'd try to be girly just to attract a guy. What a disaster that date turned out to be. "No, I just want to be a better person."

She stares at me for a good thirty seconds, narrowing her eyes as if trying to figure out my angle. Eventually she sighs and moves closer to me, grabbing a lock of my hair and shaking her head.

"Well, first, let's do something with your hair. It's like a rat's nest."

I'm a little insulted by the comment, but I bite my tongue and nod. It'd probably a bad idea to lash out at the lady you came crawling to for help.

The next half hour passes by in a blur. I'm barely aware of her dunking my head under a sink, and I don't have the slightest idea as to what products she's dumping onto my hair. It's not until she's painfully running a brush through my hair and mumbling about knots that I zone back in.

Her fingers running through my hair feels weird. My mother hasn't brushed my hair since I was seven and doing those stupid beauty pageants. Once I'd quit, well, she didn't really see the point in bothering to make me look presentable anymore.

"Work on pronouncing the entire word when you say it. That means no dropping the 'g' on words like 'going'. And sit up straight, dear. Push out your chest and hold your shoulders back."

I do what she says and blanch. It feels like I have a pole up my butt, but what do I know?

I looked at myself in the mirror with a blank expression, but I can't hold it for long. My hair flows in cascading, curly waves of blonde that reminds me of my sister's. I actually look really good, and I can't stop the slow smile that spreads across my face.

"You have a beautiful smile. You should use it more." she says, hands on my shoulders.

Okay, I know this sounds weird, but she almost acts like a real mother. Like she cares about my well being. Not to say that my mom doesn't, but she doesn't do a great job of showing it. She has absolutely no idea how to parent. I mean, heck, she makes me watch her try on bikinis! If that's not cruel and unusual punishment I don't know what is.

"Hey, Ms. B, can I come over here again tomorrow? You know, to practice this stuff some more?"

As she stands behind me in the mirror, I notice that her face takes on an oddly pleased expression. "I don't see why not."

At that moment, Freddie walks in. He freezes when he sees me, eyebrows raising above the dark shades he wore. I notice the bruise isn't even noticeable and assume that Carly had put on some makeup along with the shades so that he could sneak past his mom. I guess that explains what took him so long to get over here. I don't know what he's going to do tomorrow morning after he washes it off, though.

"Not bad, Puckett," he mumbles, giving me an appraising glance.

I start to say something along the lines of 'shut up', but hold my tongue. Instead, I simply use my newly learned posture and push past him to go home. "Bye, Ms. Benson," I call from the hallway.

I make the short trek to my apartment and use the elevator to get to the fifth floor, back already aching from using 'good posture.' I push the key into the lock and open the door, only to be met by the shocked blue eyes of my mother.

"Mel?" she asks, staring at me with surprise. I guess with my awesome hair and flawless posture, I do sort of look like my supposed better twin. When I don't say anything for a few seconds, her face eventually falls into realization.

"Oh, Sam, it's just you." I can't help but notice the disappointment in her voice, but like usual, I try not to let it bother me. "What's with the nerd getup?" She goes back to watching her program, not even looking at me anymore. Typical.

"Freddie's trying to help me clean up my act," I lie. I don't know why I say it. Maybe because she'd actually believe it, or maybe it's because I want it to be true.

She turns around to look at me again, suddenly interested. "The Benson kid?"

I shrug and nod. "Yeah, it's a mutual thing. I'm gonna help him not be such a dork and he's gonna help me not be such a...me."

"You two got a little somethin' goin' on now?" she asks, the slightest hint of a smirk appearing on her lips.

It was weird to have her so interested in my personal life. She normally only gave me two pieces of advice: Don't do drugs and don't get pregnant. So far, I'd managed to not do either. "Ew, mom, gross."

She shrugs and turns back around. "Well, I'll believe it when I see it, but good luck."

To most people it sounds like she has no faith in me, but for her, it's an actual show of support. Now, I don't want to let her down. I can't. For once, I want my mom to look at me like she looks at Mel; with pride.

Suddenly, It's decided. I'm winning this thing.

* * *

**AN: I wrote half of this while drinking vodka. I feel like I'm the worst person to be writing a fanfiction about a show featuring relatively wholesome teenagers.**


	5. Chapter 5

**iTrade Places**

**Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. Sigh.**

**Chapter 5**

**Sam POV**

The next couple of days pass by slowly. I manage to not be a totally terrible person, and Freddie somehow avoids acting like a nub–something I didn't think was even possible. He'd even pulled a pretty hilarious prank on Mr. Howard and gotten himself detention all on his own. Oh, how proud I was.

On the flipside, I'm completely exhausted. Having to study, bathe everyday, brush my hair, and cook my own meals was taking its toll on me. I missed the days of sleeping and eating whatever and whenever I pleased.

As I tiredly pull some things from my locker, Wendy walks up to me, books pressed firmly over her chest. "Hey, Sam!" she greets, smiling. It looks forced, and I can't help but be a little wary as to what she wants.

I sigh inwardly but turn away from my locker to smile back at her. "What's up?"

She looks a little uncomfortable if the way she fidgets is any indication, idly twirling her hair around a finger. "Did you hear that Freddie and I went out on Monday?"

I slowly nod my head, still waiting for her to get to the point. "What about it?"

"I...I just wanted to make sure that you don't like him. Because if you do, that's totally cool and I'll back off."

I can't stop my eyebrows from raising. "Are you kidding?" When her face doesn't change, I sigh. "No, I don't like Freddie."

She looks slightly surprised, but mostly pleased by this. "Really?"

"Yes, really. He's all yours if you want him."

She suddenly squeals and hugs me, catching me off guard and practically vibrating with excitement. "Awesome!" My jaw is still slightly agape as she practically skips off down the hall. Was Freddie really that big of a deal to her? I mean, okay, she'd always had a slight thing for him ever since the whole Missy incident, but she'd never been so overt about it before. Apparently this new bad boy thing really did it for her. I frown slightly, but decide that I don't care–I've got a date with a real hottie today.

"Hey Sammy," a familiar voice says from my right. My fists automatically clench at the nickname.

"Hi, Freddie," I ground out through clenched teeth.

He stares at me strangely for a few seconds, eyes running up and down my body. "Why are you standing like that?"

"It's called having good posture."

His hand on my back makes me jump, and just as I'm about to smack him, he moves away. "Now you have good posture."

Without a second glance, he shoulders his bag and walks off.

I can still feel the warmth from his hand on my back as it gradually spreads to my chest, and honestly, it's a little alarming. One touch shouldn't have such a huge effect on me. I shake it off though and head to my first class. Whatever the feeling is isn't more important than what I have waiting for my after school.

It's not until the end of the day that I see Freddie again, and this time, he's walking out of the school with a widely smiling Wendy. I watch her punch him playfully in the shoulder with a little envy. Not because I feel anything towards Freddie, but because Wendy's always so sure in what she wants. When I like a guy, I hem and haw over it for weeks before deciding to do anything about it, and even then I need Carly's full support to make a move.

I shrug and throw my books into my locker. Well, good for them. I slip over to the A/V clubroom at double the pace, eager to get to what had become my safe haven. After only my second meeting, I'd become comfortable amongst all of the computers and miscellaneous technology littering the room.

I'm still at odds with the club members, but the tech equipment doesn't judge me. It doesn't stick it's nose up at me because it thinks it's smarter than me. All it does is hum quietly in the background, making for a great white noise machine whenever I felt like sleeping. Even after this bet is over I'll be spending a whole lot of time in here.

"Hey, you're early," Shane says, smiling up at me from one of the projectors.

All thoughts of Freddie, Wendy, and technology instantly go out the window as my eyes catch a glimpse of that handsome smile. "Hi." I clear my throat and attempt to smile back. "Are those the movies we're going to watch?" I ask, nodding at a stack of clear DVD cases.

He finishes setting up the equipment and walks into one of the adjacent doors. "We probably won't have time to get through all of them, but I think we can watch three or four before you have to leave for iCarly."

I look through the cases, and my eyes widen as I see the name on the front of the first few. So much for not thinking about Freddie. "Freddie directed some of these?"

Shane pops his head out of the room, giving me a strange frown. "You didn't know? He's directed all of our movies so far besides the time he got hit by that taco truck. He's really good."

For some reason, I feel embarrassed that I didn't know. I guess that's where he disappears to every Saturday. Shane reappears with a box of fatcakes and a bowl of popcorn. I have to hand it to him–he's done his research. If only I were still me.

"I'll just take the popcorn, thanks," I mumble, whimpering pitifully as Shane shrugs and puts the fatcakes back in the room.

"Which movie do you want to watch first?" When I shrug, he picks the one on top and pops it in.

I'm not expecting much. I figure it'll be some super nerdy Galaxy Wars rip off. To my surprise, it's...it's actually good. Really good. It's about a girl who finds a hidden number in between 2 and 3 that completely alters the state of the universe, and even though ten minutes have passed, it only feels like seconds when it ends. Everything was impressive; the story, the writing, the acting, the cinematography, the visual effects––everything.

"Wow," I breathe, the trance broken as the credits roll. I haven't even touched my popcorn, and I'm only barely aware of Shane's arms around my shoulders. When had that happened?

"It's my favorite, too. I can't believe you're just now seeing this. We had a huge premiere for it in the auditorium last year; didn't Freddie invite you?"

I try to hide my anger, but it's a losing battle. My face drops into a frown. "Maybe he did, but I don't remember. Let's watch the next one." Instead of letting him do it, I stand up and throw the next DVD in, hoping it blows and that the first one was just a fluke. No such luck.

It's a completely different genre, more of a cutesy, romantic, humorous film. It's about a guy and a girl who both happened to be wearing the same jacket. They accidentally mix them up, and the entire film is about them using the clues they find in each others' pockets to figure out how to trade back. It keeps me enraptured to the point where I push Shane away when he begins to rub my shoulder. It's not my fault–the movement was distracting!

"Sam?" Shane asks, drawing my attention once the movie ends.

I'm already at the projector at this point, removing the previous movie to put the next one in. "Hm?"

He gives me a funny look, like he's not sure how to say what he wants to say. "I think we should stop for today. Maybe you can take a copy of these home since you like them so much." His voice sounds a little upset, but it's hard to tell since it's so dark in the room except for the light from the projector.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead and borrow them." He stands up and pauses like he wants to say something but shakes his head instead. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sam."

I watch him leave, not completely sure what'd just happened. His demeanor had changed drastically from when I'd first arrived. He seemed upset about something, but as far as I know, I hadn't really done anything. I don't understand boys sometimes, but I'm more surprised by how little I care at the moment.

Shrugging, I pop in the next movie. I have an hour or so before I have to head over for iCarly, so I figure I can probably finish them all in one go since they're at most 45 minutes altogether. I can always talk to Shane later if I really want to since he honestly didn't seem all that upset. Maybe he was just tired or something.

The movie starts and I'm again pulled into one of Freddie's worlds. I recognize both of the stars from school, but even more than that, I recognize how similar the stars look to me and Freddie. Freddie and I. Fucking grammar.

The two stars are bitter enemies who work for different organizations, brought together to save a little girl. In the beginning they're at each others' throats, disagreeing on how to rescue her. The male lead wants to use more diplomatic methods while the female lead wants to go in guns blazing. They eventually come to a compromise, and by the climax, they become friends...and a little more. There's a long kiss at the end, and even though I want to shut the movie off, I can't look away.

There's something extremely fascinating about the kiss. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. It's violent, but gentle. It's mean, but passionate. It's disgusting, but...extremely hot. Definitely not a stage kiss. There's no way you can fake something that. It suddenly feels too hot in the room, so I quickly shut the projector off.

After that, I lose interest in watching the rest of his films for now and toss them into my bag for later viewing at home. Besides, I should probably get to the studio earlier than planned to make sure I have things in good working order. I'll be damned if Freddie does a better job than me on iCarly.

As expected, the show is a complete disaster. A lot of the jokes fall flat, and Carly and Freddie have absolutely no on screen chemistry. I mean, sure, I may have missed a few dozen cues and maybe I forgot to adjust the white balance (Who knew the nub was so right about that?), but those things are forgivable. Being unfunny isn't. I'm seriously not looking forward to looking over the comments tomorrow, which, by the way, is my job now. Ugh.

By the time I get home I'm exhausted, but annoyingly, I can't sleep. All I can think about is the fact that two people know something about Freddie that I don't. Two people who hadn't been his friends for nearly as long as I have. Well, maybe not _friends_, but I saw his face at least five or six times a week. I don't know why it bothers me so much, but it does. Maybe it was because I thought I had him all figured out.

I knew his favorite movies. I knew his favorite books. I knew his favorite foods, who his first kiss was, who his first girlfriend was, and basically everything I thought I need to know. If the films he wrote and directed were any indication, though, I didn't know anything.

What did they mean? Was this what he thought about when he stared off into space as he often did? Why hadn't he told me about any of these movies or invited me to the premieres? I know the answer before I can even think about it. He thought I'd make fun of him.

I guess it's a pretty understandable thing to worry about. If I'd put so much time and effort into something, it'd be painful to have someone come along and say that it sucked. Which I probably would have.

But not telling me about his dad? What the fuck was up with that? Did he really think I'd be so insensitive as to talk smack about something that obviously hurt him so deeply? It pisses me off just thinking about it.

Fed up, I slip on a pair of flip flops and sneak out the door. It was apparent I wouldn't be able to rest until I got some answers. I made the ten minute walk to the Bushwell, mind running a mile a minute as I struggled to think about how to confront him. What do I say? 'Oh, I watched your movies and thought they were great'? That's not something I would say.

I pause momentarily at the thought. That's not something I would say, but Freddie might. Huh. There's an advantage to this bet after all. I can pay the nub compliments without it being overly awkward.

I wouldn't be able to go in through the front door what with Crazy probably being home, so my only option is the fire escape. Suddenly, I wish I'd have worn sneakers. I walk around the building until I got to the side that I know houses Freddie's room and slip off my sandals. Tucking them into the waistband of my shorts, I get a running start towards the opposite wall and launch myself off of it, stretching myself towards the hanging ladder. I just manage to get one hand on the lowest rung, amazed that it'd actually worked.

Believe it or not, I'm somewhat adept at freerunning. No, seriously. My mom had dated a guy who was a pro, and he taught me a few basics. I still practice at least once a week, walking down to my local park and messing around on the jungle gyms for a bit before heading back home. It's both good exercise and a great stress reliever.

I look down at the ground below me and smile. I'm a good nine feet above the pavement; the most height I've ever gotten on a wall jump. It takes a bit of effort, but I somehow pull myself up and into the fire escape. Scaling the rest of the stairs is easy, and I make it to the eighth floor in a couple of minutes.

I stand in front of Freddie Benson's window with a frown. It's now or never. I knock quietly, hoping against hope that it doesn't wake up his mom. She was actually alright with me now, and I can't help but feel as though showing up at her son's window at two in the morning would completely erase any progress I'd made. Not that I particularly care, but she's pretty helpful with the whole becoming a nub thing.

Freddie's sleepy face catches me by surprise as he slams the window open and pokes his head out sooner than I'd expected–though it isn't his face that surprises me. It's his lack of a shirt that gets to me.

He isn't buff by any means, but geez. When had all of the baby fat melted away? When had his shoulders rounded, and just when the hell did he get those guns? They weren't like AK-47's or anything, but they were a very respectable glock-17 at least.

"What do you want, Sam?" he mumbles, brown eyes squinting sleepily.

I swallow thickly, struggling to find my voice. "I need to talk to you."

"Now? At..." he glances back at something and I swear he gasps. "2:23 in the morning?!"

"I couldn't sleep." He rolls his eyes but motions with his hand for me to continue. "Why didn't you tell me about your dad?"

His body stiffens for a few seconds, but he eventually averts his gaze and shrugs, leaning more heavily on his hands. "I didn't think you'd care."

"Yeah, but shouldn't I make that decision? At least give me the option. And why didn't you ever tell me about your movie premieres? I saw a few of them and they're...actually pretty good."

Annoyingly, he just shrugs again. "Did you come over here at two in the morning just for that?"

My face sours. The way he's brushing this off makes me want to slam the window down on his neck, but I can't do that without losing the bet and possibly getting arrested if I killed him. "Sorry for bothering you. Night." I move to go back down the fire escape, but a strong hand on my wrist stops me.

"Wait," he says, leaning out of his window a little more. "Did you walk over here in that?" His eyes run over my body, and I can't stop the slight increase in my heartbeat at the action.

I glance down at myself and raise my eyebrows. I'm wearing a white tank top and a pair of red shorts. It's what I slept in, and to me, it looks fine. Maybe the shorts are a bit shorter than they should be, but it's not like my buttcheeks are hanging out. "Yeah, what about it?"

He sighs deeply, seemingly exasperated by my attitude. "You can't walk home in that. There are all sorts of creeps out there."

"I can take care of myself, thank you."

"Maybe Sam can, but Freddie can't." He pauses and lets loose another large breath of air, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "Look, just...just sleep here tonight. You can go to Carly's in the morning."

I think about it for a few seconds–a little shocked by the offer–but shrug and walk over to the window. I wasn't really up for heading back home anyway. "Fine, but I'm not sharing a bed with you."

He stares at me incredulously, the slightest hint of mischief on his face. "What are you talking about? You're sleeping on the floor." As if to emphasize his point, he throws a pillow and blanket on the floor next to his bed and plops down onto his own face first. Amazingly his breath evens out in a seconds. Guess he was pretty tired.

Knowing how meticulous his mom is about cleaning, I don't feel bad at all about sleeping on his floor. It's surprisingly plush and feels twice as good as the beds at juvie. With Freddie's deep breathing next to me, I feel oddly relaxed. I drift off to sleep in minutes, Freddie's scent surrounding me.

* * *

My eyes slowly crack open, and alarmingly, I find that I can't move. I start to panic, but then I slowly remember where I am. The reason I can't move is because I'd tangled myself up in his comforter. I lift my head to see Freddie standing in front of his dresser in only a pair of pants, a sight that's not all that unpleasant to wake up to. He's tiredly buckling his belt over a pair of black jeans. I don't know why I stare––really I don't––but I can't look away. It's not often that I get to see Freddie in his natural nubby habitat.

He slides on a tight, dark blue t-shirt and I can't fight the mild feeling of disappointment as he covers his torso.

His feet turn in my direction, and I quickly lay my head down and shut my eyes.

"Sammy, get up," he says, harshly shaking my shoulder. What the hell kind of wake up was that? "Did you hear me? Hey!"

I pretend to groan and sleepily open my eyes. He's much closer than I expected. "What is it, Freddie?"

"It's time to go to school. I called Carly and told her you'd be over in a few minutes to borrow some clothes."

I blink a little at the action. After such a rude awakening, it's unexpected. "That's really nice of you,"

"Don't get used to it, Puckett, I just want you out of my space." I see the lightest flicker of amusement in his eyes and instantly know that he's not being completely serious.

"Fine, I'm going." It takes me a few seconds, but I'm eventually able to worm my way out of the cacoon I'd created. I stretch my arms high over my head, causing the bottom of my tank to ride up. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see him staring at me, and it's all I can do not to feel embarrassed. Or maybe I feel flattered. It's kind of a mix of the two.

"Were you checking me out just now?" I ask, smirking slightly.

"Nope," he grins, popping his P. Well, he sure had my speech patterns down at least. I hold my hand out to him for help and he looks at me with a vaguely amused smirk before hopping to his feet and walking out of the room, presumably towards the bathroom. "You know the way out."

"Jerk," I mumble, getting up on my own. The worst part was that I couldn't even really be that upset with him since he was just doing what I always did to him.

I attempt to sneak out of the apartment, but it's no use. His mother is in the kitchen making breakfast.

"Samantha?" his mother shrieks, dropping the spatula in her hand with a stricken look. I guess my current dress and bedhead don't help the situation.

"Oh, hi, Ms. Benson," I smile. Amazingly, she seems to calm down. Huh. Who knew smiling could actually disarm people?

Just as quickly, her hackles raise again. "What...why were you in Freddie's room?"

I pretend to look confused, tilting my head for extra effect. Time to turn on the ol' Puckett charm. Or I would, if we actually had any. "Didn't you hear me come in?" She shakes her head, eyes unblinking. "Yeah, I had to give Freddie something for school just in case we didn't see each other in time. I'm just going back to Carly's now. Bye, Ms. Benson!" I don't know if she believes me or not, but that's his problem. I hightail it out of there as quickly as I can without looking too suspicious.

I slip across the hall and try to open Carly's door. Oddly enough it's locked, so I'm forced to knock and wait for someone to open it. Five seconds later she opens the door, and instantly her eyes pop wide open, and Carly's eyes run over me with astonishment. "Sam? What are you doing here? Why aren't you dressed?"

Oh, that jerk. That stupid, lying, little nub. Of course he hadn't actually called Carly. I can practically imagine the smug look on his face right now. Sighing, I cross my arms and lean against her door frame.

"I need to borrow some clothes."

**AN: So I recently found out that there's already a story with (roughly) this premise. It makes it hard to finish this story since it feels so unoriginal and I thrive on writing things people haven't thought of yet. I have three other better story ideas, so I'm going to speed things up and finish a couple of chapters earlier than originally planned.**


	6. Chapter 6

**iTrade Places**

**Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. Stop rubbing it in, would you?**

**Chapter 6**

**Freddie POV**

I put the combination into the lock with practiced ease and open my locker, sighing as my mind once again drifts back to what had happened only an hour earlier.

I'd somehow managed to play it cool at the time, but I still can't get Sam's morning face out of my head. She just looked so adorable–almost like a sleepy puppy. I blink at the thought of Sam and adorable in the same sentence. I didn't even think that was possible.

"Hey Freddie," a voice says from behind me, drawing me out of my thoughts. I stop putting things in my locker long enough to see a familiar redhead walking in my direction. Wendy smiles up at me, so I smirk back.

"Hey yourself." I close the door and lean against it, boring my eyes into hers. It's hard not to look away, but I maintain eye contact. "What's up?"

She absently plays with her scarf, nervously flipping it between her fingers. "There's a party tonight at Skip Peters' place."

My face sours. Ugh. Skip Peters. I've done a good job of avoiding him for the past few days, which isn't all that hard since I'm in all advanced classes and he's in the remedials. He also wasn't in detention the next time I went, so I'd dodged a bullet there, but the thought of meeting him on his turf doesn't seem like the greatest idea.

"I don't think he'd want me there," I say, trying to hide my fear at the thought of seeing him again.

"I asked him already, and he's totally cool with it. Really." Wendy's pleading gaze does something to me.

My mouth wants to say no, but something in her eyes is nearly forcing me to say yes. Besides, I'm pretty sure Sam's gone to a couple of these parties, so why not? It's a new experience and seems like a good time with a pretty girl, so I slowly nod my head. "Sounds fun. Thanks." I expect her to leave, but she just stands there for a few more seconds, still toying with her scarf. "What?" I ask since she apparently isn't going to say what she wants to without a little prodding.

"Did you want to go together, or–"

Ah. That explains her nervousness. I don't really want to tell her the truth, but I can't think of a plausible lie on the spot. "I don't have a car."

Wendy's unfazed by this, and I realize that she probably already knew about my situation given her extensive information network. Also, she's friends with Carly, and even though I love the girl, she can't keep a secret to save her life. "I can borrow my dad's and pick you up."

She seems pretty eager about it, so I simply shrug and nod. "Yeah, sure. Do you know where I live?"

"Of course I do, it's me." She takes a step closer and leans in, giving me a good whiff of her perfume. Apples. "I'll pick you up in front of your building at 8."

I wince slightly, but nod. My mom's going to be home until ten tonight, so I'll have to make up some excuse and duck out. Wendy smiles again and walks away, leaving me to begin planning the lies I'd have to tell to make this whole thing work.

Instead of going to Carly's after school like usual, I head straight home to take a nap. I figure if I'm going to be partying all night, I'll need all the energy I can get.

My alarm rings three hours later at 7pm, and I tiredly roll myself out of bed. It takes me a few minutes to fully wake myself up and remember what I'm supposed to be doing, but a flash of Wendy's face instantly reminds me. I turn on the lamp next to my bed and stumble over to my closet. I'm not really sure what to wear, but one thing I'm certain of is that I'm not wearing my jacket.

I grab a pair of dark jeans, a grey v-neck, and one of my dad's bracelets and slip them on. I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard, but since this is somewhat of a date, I don't want to look like a total slouch. I then slip on my boots, wash my face, brush my teeth, and head towards the front door.

"Freddie? Where are you going?" My mom asks, poking her head out of her bedroom just as my hand brushes against the doorknob.

"I'm going to hang with Carly and Sam. Like usual."

She smiles slightly and doesn't question it. I mean, why should she? It's pretty much what I've been doing everyday for the past four years. I don't even know why she asks anymore. "Alright, be careful. And be home by midnight," she says, going back into her room.

"Sure thing, mom." Well, that was easy. I slip out of my front door and take the three steps across the hall to Carly's place. Instead of knocking, I just open the door and walk right in.

"Hey, can you guys cover if my mom asks about me? I told her I'd be hanging with you guys all night."

"Why? Where are you going?" Carly asks, glancing away from the TV and noticing my state of dress. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

I shrug slightly, not seeing the point of lying about something so benign. "There's a party I want to go to tonight."

Sam suddenly whips her head around to look at me with an expression I've never seen before on her face. "You're going to a Skip Peters party?" When I nod she shakes her head, blond curls shifting over her shoulders. "That is _not_ a good idea."

"Why, have you been to one?" I ask, actually curious about what to expect.

"Once, and never again." I notice the grimace on her face and can't help but wonder what she meant by that. So I ask.

"Why not?"

Sam sighs loudly. "Because Skip is a total washout, that's why. His parties are all about sex, drugs, booze, and terrible music. That's all his _life_ is about."

"Freddie..." Carly starts, face morphing into that motherly concerned look I'm far too familiar with. It wouldn't work this time, though.

"I already promised Wendy I'd go. Sorry." When their faces remained unchanged, I feel myself grow angry. "Look, don't worry about me, alright? I'm not gonna get drunk and pass out in a gutter."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Sam murmurs, mysteriously glancing away from me. She waves her hand in my direction. "Carly, tell him!"

Carly's running her hands through her hair like she does when she's stressed out, and if I wasn't so upset, I might actually find it funny. "Sam's right, Freddie. She said that even _she_ wouldn't go to one of these."

"Yeah, but she's _been_." Officially fed up, I sigh and roll my eyes. "How about if I promise to be back by 11? Will that get you guys off my back about it?"

I glance at Carly, and she nods. I guess she figures that three hours isn't enough time for me to get into any major trouble. My eyes shift to Sam right afterwards, but she just shrugs disinterestedly. Well, that's probably the best I'm going to get out of her. "Thanks. I'll see you at 11." I open the door and quickly make my exit. It's already five minutes after eight, but since I'm Sam, it's not such a big deal. Being late is pretty much her M.O.

It takes me another six minutes to get downstairs, and as soon as I step outside the doors of the Bushwell, I see a silver Sedan sitting right in front of me. I knock lightly on the window, and a second later, I hear the door unlock.

"I was worried you weren't coming," Wendy says as I get in, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, sorry."

She waits for a few seconds as if expecting an explanation, but I'm not going to give her one. And why should I? I showed up at least, didn't I?

"Are we going or what?" I ask a bit rudely, gesturing towards the road in front of us.

Wendy's smile falls a little, but just as quickly it perks back up. "Of course we are!" She turns the key and the engine roars to life, so a few seconds later, we're off.

Wendy doesn't shut her mouth the entire trip, which is fine with me since I didn't really feel like talking. My stomach's doing flip flops as I think about what could go down once we get to the party. Sure, Wendy said it was okay, but what if Skip was lying? What if he'd told her that just so he could get me there and jump me? I'm forced to stop thinking about it as we slowly come to a stop in front of what looks like a mini-mansion.

I have to admit––I'm shocked. I was expecting some rundown, rickety building, or hell–even a normal house. Who knew Skip Peters was loaded? Then again, he may just be borrowing the place of a friend. Worst case he's squatting in this place and the cops will show up in a couple of hours.

I jump out of her car and slam the door behind me. The street is already packed with cars, a few of which I recognize from our school's parking lot. Wendy latches onto my arm, smiles, and leads me up to the front door. She doesn't bother knocking and instead just opens the door like she owns the place. Immediately, a haze of smokes hits me square in the face, and it's all I can do not to gag.

"Freddie?" Wendy asks from my side, concerned.

I smile weakly and shake my head. "Sorry, the smoke got in my eyes."

"Hey, Benson!" A voice calls from further in the house. I look around until my eyes land on a drunk looking Skip Peters. He's standing around with a bunch of his detention cronies, and one arm is looped around the shoulders of a cute, way too tan little black-haired girl. A plastic red cup hangs daintily from her fingertips, and she's wearing entirely too much makeup. I mean, who wears that much blue eyeshadow nonironically? He waves me over and I relax. Looks like this isn't a trap after all.

"Skip," I nod once I get close enough.

"No jacket?"

"Nah, too hot." In reality, I was just afraid of getting jumped and having it stolen from me if it turned out to be a trap. Because there was a very real possibility of that happening.

He nods and takes a long swig of a PBR can before crushing it in his hand and throwing it over his shoulder. "Yeah, I got ya. Hey babe," he says, jarring the girl next to him. "This is the guy I was tellin' you about yesterday. The one who gave me this bruise."

Her eyes slowly shift from Skip and over to me, sizing me up with dull, glassy green eyes. It's an uncomfortable feeling being looked over like a piece of meat, but altogether not that unpleasant. She smiles demurely and winks, revealing more of that gaudy blue eyeshadow. Ugh.

"Hey, she likes you!" Skip yells, laughing raucously. "Lemme tell you though, Benson's cool. He knows how to fight like a real man. It ain't about beatin' the other guy 'til he's black and blue, ya got me? Fightin's about solvin' a disagreement with your fists in a classy way. All we had to do is exchange one punch and we knew we was aight with each other. Ain't that right, Benson?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I don't know if he's drunk, delusional, or just stupid, but that made absolutely no sense. It'd be classier to just, you know, talk instead of fight in the first place. Still, I don't want to cause a scene, so I nod. "Yeah."

If it's even possible, his grin widens. "Hey man, enjoy the party, yeah? Beer's in the kitchen, the fun stuff's downstairs."

Somehow, I know what he means by fun stuff. I feel Wendy's hand in mind, and she leads me further into the house until we get to the kitchen. "See?" she says, winking up at me once we're out of earshot. "I told you Skip's cool with you."

We grab a soda each and walk around the party for a good couple of hours, talking to people that she knows and that I've only seen around the hallways. The entire time her arm is looped through mine, and I can already imagine what the gossip is going to be like in the halls of Ridgeway on Monday. At least she doesn't introduce me as her boyfriend or anything.

It's weird the way everyone treats me. Most of them are sloshed and extremely friendly, talking and laughing with me as though we've known each other for years. Girls are brazenly telling me that I'm cute, guys are calling me bro, and hell I feel myself start to have fun.

We're talking to a couple of girls I know collectively as Kathleen when Wendy suddenly ushers me towards a closed door under the stairwell.

"Where are we going?" I ask, a little nervous. She doesn't answer, instead just shrugging and smirking at me.

The smell of marijuana hits my nose as soon as she opens the door. She leads me down the stairs to the basement where there are a dozen or so people just sitting around talking, smoking, drinking, and making out. She plops down on one of the many couches in the basement, motioning for me to sit down next to her. As soon as I do, she scoots closer until she's practically on top of me. For the first time I notice that she's wearing fishnets, and for some reason, it makes me nervous.

She pops the tab on a beer and hands it to me before doing the same to hers, sipping it like it's completely normal. Which it might very well be for her. "Gross," she murmurs, face scrunching up. "I hate PBR. It's like pisswater." She takes another sip anyway and motions for me to do the same.

I was in a war with myself. I'd never actually seen Sam in this environment, so I was lost as to what to do. Did Sam drink? Smoke? I'd never seen her hungover and she's never smelled of smoke, but who knows? Maybe she just never showed that side to me. I was around her a lot, sure, but not all the time.

I don't know what possesses me to drink it. Maybe it's Wendy's gentle encouraging, maybe it's the floor rattling music coming from the speakers upstairs, or maybe it's the second hand marijuana smoke making me a bit light headed, but I take a long gulp of my beer.

"Pisswater is better than this," I mumble, and Wendy laughs. Her hand is holding mine now as she sips on her can, and her long, dark red hair cascades down from her head and into my lap.

"Freddie?" she asks, looking up at me with her large, dark eyes.

I take another swig and blanch. No matter how much I drink, it doesn't get any better. "Yeah?"

"Are you still in love with Carly?"

I choke slightly on my mouthful of beer. I knew the answer, but I didn't know what she was getting at. Choosing my words carefully, I reply. "I don't think so. I mean, I don't think about her as much as I used to, anyway."

At this, she moves a little closer. "What about Sam?"

A laugh slips out of my mouth, and it's all I can do not to drop my can. Not that it would be much of a loss. "What about her?" This answer seems to satisfy Wendy as her smile widens significantly.

"Nothing. So...there's no one you like?"

Before I can answer, a smoking piece of paper is pushed into my face. It takes me a few seconds to realize that it's a roach. "No thanks," I say, shaking me head. Drinking? Sure. Drugs? Not a chance. There's no way Sam does that much.

The boy, a blond that I know as Chuck from school, frowns at me. "C'mon, dude, if you're not gonna smoke, why're you even down here?"

I'm surprised when Wendy reaches across my face and grabs it. "I'll take a hit." She inhales deeply, holding it in her mouth and passing the joint on–at least until she suddenly grabs my head and forces her lips over mine, breathing the smoke into my open mouth. I instantly begin to cough, smoke pouring out of my nose.

"What the hell, Wendy?!" I notice her cheeks and ears are burning, just like I'm sure mine are.

"It's called a blowback. Don't worry, it won't do that much to you since you probably didn't really breathe in." She stands up and sits down sideways in my lap, wrapping an arm around my neck for balance. She looks nervous all of a sudden and I tilt my head curiously, trying my best not to look as nervous as I feel. "I like you, Freddie," she says finally, cheeks darkening an even redder shade.

I blink in surprise. I really should've seen this coming, but I was so caught up in managing my Sam persona that I didn't even notice Wendy's feelings for me. I mean, I'd had my theories, but now it just seemed stupidly obvious.

WWSD (what would Sam do?) wasn't working here. I don't know enough about her to know how she acts when a guy confesses, so I lead with my gut.

I lean forward and capture her lips with mine. It's only my third kiss–the first and second being Sam and Carly–but she seems to be enjoying it as she pushes back with twice as much fervor. She pauses to take another swig of beer and I do the same before we're kissing again, my hand holding onto her waist and her hand gripping the back of my shirt.

We kiss and drink for a good few minutes, and at some point, I realize my empty can has been replaced with a full one.

She arches her back and I can't help but glance down at her chest to stare at the pale, lightly freckled flesh pushing out of her top. The giggle she lets out does wonderful things to her breasts, and she backs away to glance down coquettishly at my pants. "I guess I don't have to ask you if you like this," she asks, giggling again when I look away with embarrassment.

Okay, now this is probably the worst time to be thinking about this, but I can't help but wonder what exactly had happened on this couch up until now. Blame it on my mother's upbringing, but I just knew there were all kinds of fluids soaked deep into the cushions; beer, spit, other less than savory fluids...the only reason I was still sitting here was because there was a hot girl on top of me and I was currently trying to be Sam. The things I do for a stupid bet.

She rolls her hips and I groan, unable to believe that such a small movement can give me so much pleasure. Of course, she didn't stop there. She downs the rest of her beer in a few swallows and tips my own can up into my mouth until I finish mine. It's not until she pushes another can into my hand that I smirk and look up at her. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Wendy?"

Her lips twitch upwards and she innocently flutters her eyelashes, giving me my answer. "Maaaybe."

Maybe it was the alcohol, the marijuana in my system, or hell, maybe it was because she was extremely hot, but I wanted her. Badly. I pull her fully onto my lap so that she's straddling me and she cutely squeaks in surprise.

"Freddie!" she grins, slapping me on the arm. I don't give her time to do much else as I roughly press my lips against hers again. It's a little harder than I intentioned but she doesn't seem to mind as she moans and runs her fingers through my hair. I'm only vaguely aware of the fact that my hands have slid to her ass, and before long, she breaks the kiss to plant a few along my neck.

She suddenly latches on and begins to suck, every now and then stopping to kiss or lick the spot. God, it feels good. There's a little pain, but the pleasure far outweighs it. When she finally pulls away, I can't help but notice the mischievous grin on her face.

"What?" I ask, head swimming from everything I'd done so far.

Wendy shrugs and attacks the other side of my neck, doing the same exact thing as she'd done to the other side. The entire time my fingers were massaging the bare skin of her lower back, and I can't help but be amazed by the softness of a girl's skin. She was the first girl I'd gotten this far with, and really, I was wondering how much further this would go. The laws of television dating states that the first date is a kiss or making out, the second date is making out and petting, and the third date is sex. I'm not sure how that applies to teenagers, but I somehow feel like I'm breaking a rule here.

A buzzing in my pants kills the moment, and on instinct I reach into my pocket for my phone to glance at the name. 'Sam' flashes across the screen and I groan. The redhead on top of me apparently sees her name too as she rolls off of me and sinks into the chair with a huff. I feel bad, but not bad enough to see what she wants. I unlock my phone and read the first message:

**Sam: u ok?**

**Me: Yeah why?**

**Sam: its after 11 and ur not back yet so i was just checkinh. u didnt drink out of anything you didnt open urself or take drugs did u?**

Huh. I'd sort of done both of those. Was she here watching me? And when did it get past 11? I glance at my phone to see that it's 11:03. Annoyed since I'd only missed our agreed upon curfew by a few minutes, I furiously text her back.

**Me: No mom.**

**Sam: im serious freddie **

**Me: Gotcha.**

**Sam: i know where skip lives dont make me go over there**

Before I can reply, Wendy snatches my phone out of my hand and does it for me.

**Me: Dont worry sam, its fine im just talking to people  
**

There's a brief pause in her messages.

**Sam: who is this?**

Wendy glances up at me, her frown deepening when all I can do is shrug. I'm actually a little amazed that Sam knows my texting style so well.

**Me: wendy. ill look out for freddie, dont worry**

I feel a little annoyed that I'm being treated like the innocent kid in this situation, but then I remember that I am. Wendy is obviously no stranger to these kinds of parties, and Sam's already admitted to going to one before. I'm seriously out of my element here and feel like going home.

The pause after Wendy's last message is the longest so far, and I wonder if maybe Sam's satisfied by her promise. No such luck.

**Sam: im comin over there**

At that, I take my phone back. I don't really want her to find me half drunk, slightly high, and making out on a dirty couch.

**Me: We're leaving now, okay?**

**Sam: if ur not back in 15 im goin over**

**Me: Fine**

I can practically feel Wendy's glare on the side of my head. "Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Sam?"

I start to say no, but in all honesty, I can't really say. We've always had this weird sort of connection. It wasn't quite friendship, but we weren't enemies, either. We existed in a fragile limbo that felt like it was just one or two harsh words away from breaking, but it was at the same time the most stable relationship I had. With Sam I always knew what I was getting, and vice versa.

Still, I don't feel like explaining all of this to Wendy, so I shake my head and grin down at her. "Positive." She smiles back, albeit a little hesitantly, and I help her to her feet. "Let's get out of here."

I can tell she's not completely happy with leaving, but she lets me lead her out of the basement anyway. The air is much clearer on the main level, and I'm thankful that I can breathe freely again.

"Benson!" I groan at the familiar voice, only this time, it sounds significantly more drunk. Great. Just when I think I'm going to make it out of the party without any confrontation. "You ain't leavin already, are you?!"

C'mon, Freddie. You can do this. If you leave now, you imply that the party's lame–which it is–but it won't look good if he thinks that. If I stay, Sam will come down and cause a scene. Either way, I lose. Think. Think. I glance at Wendy, and suddenly my intoxicated mind gets a burst of inspiration.

I wrap my arm around Wendy's waist and pull her close. "Sorry, Skip, we gotta get outta here." I smirk cockily, making sure to cut my eyes over at the redhead by my side. To my obvious relief, Skip's frown turns into a knowing grin and he winks.

"See you Monday, yeah?"

I nod and practically pull her out of the house. Stepping outside for the first time in three hours is like stepping into a completely new world. It's so much quieter, and the air is crisp and cool against my skin as it comes into contact with my sweat. I'm also breathing easier now that there wasn't smoke constantly being forced down my lungs.

"Are you sure you should drive?" I ask Wendy. The last thing I want is to end up wrapped around a telephone pole.

That amused, mischievous grin I've become used to tonight makes another appearance. "I've only had one beer all night." As if to prove it to me, she goes through a series of sobriety tests and passes them all with flying colors. She even does a few cartwheels to show off.

Oh, she's good. She'd forced at least three and a half into me without me noticing. If she were a guy, she'd be considered a huge sleazeball. Hell, she still was, but for obvious reasons, I didn't mind much.

We hop into her car and make our way to my apartment, Wendy still talking a mile a minute about plans for the next day. I absently nod my head after every pause in her sentence. I don't know what she's saying and I'm finding it harder and harder to hold my head up on its own and my eyes are threatening to close and really, I just want to get home.

Thankfully, it's only two minutes later that she slows to a stop in front of the Bushwell. "I had fun tonight, Freddie," she says, looking over at me with those wide brown eyes of hers.

"Yeah, me too."

She bites the inside of her bottom lip and reaches her hand over to play with the hem of my shirt. I know what she wants.

I lean over as if to kiss her, but instead, I tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear and smirk, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Night, Wendy."

I feel like patting myself on the back for that one. It was a tip I'd gotten from Spencer, the king of five minute relationships–leave them itching for more. I slip out of the car and put my hood up to hide my features just in case anyone wants to snitch to my mom and head into the building.

I consider taking the stairs, but eight flights in my current state didn't seem like the best idea so I take the elevator up. I stumble clumsily down the hall and bang a little too loudly on Carly's door.

Thankfully it's Sam who opens the door, looking up at me with a strange frown. She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

"What's your deal, Puckett?" I seeth, angrily clenching my jaw. "Why are you trying to ruin my life?"

She looks a little taken aback by my outburst but quickly recovers. "I'm just being you. Are you saying you wouldn't be worried?"

My brain is sluggish, but I can still argue. "Yeah, I would, but not if you didn't ask me for help first. I'd trust you to make the right decisions. I was having fun at that party until you messed it up."

Her face soured. "I'll bet you were." I didn't even have time to ponder her reply as she suddenly snapped her fingers in front of my face. "You're totally drunk. Did Wendy or Skip feed you drinks? God, I can practically smell the weed on you. You didn't smoke, did you?"

"No," I lie, probably sounding extremely unconvincing. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"Like I said, I'm being you. I have to ruin your fun."

"Well, you're doing a great job of it." I can tell she wants to punch me, but we both know that she can't. Not unless she wants to throw this thing.

"Just go away," she sighs after a few silent seconds, eyes falling her to feet.

I start to turn, but something in her expression stops me. It might be the alcohol, but she actually looks...sad. And not 'there's no bacon' sad, though she does get pretty depressed when that happens. I'm talking about the real kind of sad. The kind of sadness that seeps into your bones and keeps you awake at night. The kind of sadness that leaves your face long and gaunt for days after its passed. The kind of sadness that doesn't suit Sam at all.

"What's up with you?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"I've just decided to really try being you." Before I can ask her what she means, she closes the door in my face, locking it and latching the chain.

I stand awkwardly in front of Carly's door for a good few minutes, trying to make sense of what had just happened. It's a futile effort, though, as I realize that my brain is moving at probably half the speed it usually does. I've never been so glad to know that my mom was nowhere within five miles of me.

I stumble into my bathroom and pull off everything except my underwear and toss them into the hamper. I sprayed air freshener into it to mask the smell, and after a little more thought, I decide it'd probably be safer to throw them out on the fire escape since my mom never goes out there. I glance up at the mirror to see two distinct reddish brown marks on my neck, one on each side.

My mind flashes back to me and Wendy on the couch, and I distinctly remember her sucking on my neck. Oh, so that's what she was doing. Great, now I'm going to have to wear turtlenecks and hoodies everyday for a week. No way my mom won't notice them otherwise, and hopefully Sam didn't see them when I talked to her earlier. I wasn't really ashamed, but it was pretty embarrassing.

Thoroughly exhausted, I grab my dirty clothes and toss them out onto the fire escape to be dealt with tomorrow. I close the window, pull back my comforter, and fall face first on my pillow. I knew tomorrow would suck, but at the moment, all I wanted to do was sleep.

**AN: BUM BUM BUM!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**iTrade Places**

**Disclaimer: iCarly isn't mine, so that means I can't write myself into the show and date Sam myself. LIFE SUCKS.**

**Chapter 7**

**AN: Since I decided to pick up the pace, I'm gonna have to change POVs 2-3 times per chapter. So eager to finish!**

**Sam POV**

I don't talk to Freddie all weekend.

It's sort of weird, to be honest. Normally, I see him both Saturday and Sunday. He usually comes over to moon over Carly and occasionally do stuff for iCarly, but since he had something with Wendy now and I was in charge of the tech stuff, he apparently didn't see the point of even saying hi.

I can't say I miss him since he was a grade-A asshole the last time we spoke, but Carly certainly did. I'd told her about him being drunk and possibly high and she'd almost run across the hall to scream at him. I feel bad for her; I really do. According to her, she'd tried texting him a few times, but all of his answers had been annoyingly short and vague–nothing like the long sentences he usually sent.

The longer this bet goes on, the more strain it puts on our friendship. I feel it, Carly feels it, and I know without a doubt that Freddie feels it.

So why don't I just call the whole thing? I've thought about it. Trust me, I have. Life was so much easier when all I had to do was eat meat and bother Freddie, but now, I had to do all of this thinking. And once you start thinking, you can't just stop. That's not how it works. The brain gains–what's it called–momentum, and suddenly, it's out of control.

Like, just today, I was setting up some audio equipment for a bit we were gonna try in rehearsal Monday. I had to connect a bunch of 3-Pin XLR male outputs to the female ports on the back of one of the amps, and instantly, I began to think of Freddie and Wendy. Once I started thinking of Freddie and Wendy, I started wondering exactly what they did at that party. Did they kiss? feel each other up? Maybe a quickie in the bathroom? Ugh. See how that works? Male and female? Connections? Sex? Okay, I don't totally get it either. Like I said, my head's a mess.

Oh, and speaking of Wendy, we'd actually communicated over the weekend. Or, well, she'd sent me a few angry texts about how I messed things up and wasn't a true friend or some chiz. I don't know, I deleted them right after I read them. I wasn't really in the mood to deal with her, and it'd probably bite me in the ass today, now that I think about it. Hm.

"Sam? Are you ready to go?" Carly calls from upstairs.

"Yeah, just waiting on you," I yell back.

She jogs down the stairs, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She then pauses and lifts her eyebrows as she sees what I'm eating. "Fruit?"

"This is what Ms. Benson is eating for breakfast, and she let me have some," I shrug, placing a piece of honeydew in my mouth. I'd actually developed some sort of relationship with Crazy. For some reason she liked me and let me come over whenever I felt like it; probably because I reminded her of her delinquent son.

Carly laughs a little, standing at the edge of couch. "It's so weird to see you eating healthy stuff."

"Well, you know how much I love my fruits and veggies," I ground out. I stuff the last slice of mango–the only tolerable fruit in the bowl–down my throat and toss the empty dish on the table. Then I remember that Freddie would actually rinse it and whatever, so I drag myself over to the sink to 'clean it.' Ms. Benson would probably bleach it anyway, so I don't really see much point in trying very hard. I grab my bag and stride towards the door. "Let's go."

"Why? Eager to see Freddie?" She gives me a funny little smile, and I fight the urge to strangle her. Best friend or not, her smugness was really starting to get to me. I wish I'd never told her anything the night of Skip's party.

_**-Flashback-**_ _**Friday night, 8:04pm, SAM POV**_

I glare angrily at the closed door as Freddie leaves to go to Skip's party. Who the hell does he think he is? Okay, dumb question. He thinks he's me, but I'd still expect him to listen a little.

To be honest, it kind of hurts that he doesn't take my opinion seriously and does whatever the hell he wants to anyway. Can't he see that I'm just trying to be a good friend and help him out? There's no need for him to be so rude about it. My face drops from anger to sadness at the possibility that Freddie just doesn't trust me. Admittedly I've never given him a reason to, but it still hurts.

Apparently noticing my facial expression, Carly instantly pounces on me. "What's going on with you and Freddie?" she asks, eyes shining. "You sure seemed awfully concerned about him going to that party with Wendy."

"Carly..." I sigh and look away. I can't even explain to myself why I'm so against it, so what am I supposed to say? That my stomach is doing flip flops? That I feel uneasy about Freddie going to a party with Wendy? She'd just get the wrong idea. It's tough; I'm supposed to act like Freddie and wear my emotions more on my sleeve, but I'm still me. I'm still Sam Puckett, the girl who doesn't reveal her deepest thoughts and emotions to anyone if she can help it.

For the first time, I realize exactly how fucking unfair this bet is. I'd bitched about not being able to eat bacon, and I tolerated being abused by Freddie because he'd get it all back tenfold in a few weeks, but those were things I was willing and expecting to compromise on. This emotional chiz, though...this was different.

In order for me to actually be Freddie Benson, I have to be completely honest. And not just with other people, but with myself. I have to actually put a name to what I'm feeling and occasionally express those feelings to other people. That's who Freddie is. He's a wimpy nub, but he's not afraid to let you know what he thinks. Even if it gets him punched by yours truly.

My face sours. I can't do that. It's impossible to change who you've been for 17 years in a month, but I'm gonna lose unless I do something drastic. It feels like Carly's already against me, and if I want to win, I need to start being honest with myself.

As soon as I make the decision, everything becomes clear, and the feeling that had been nagging at me for the longest makes complete sense.

"Sam? What's wrong? You look like you're about to throw up," she says, rubbing my back.

It's funny she says that, because I feel like I'm about to throw up. I sigh deeply. Well, the best way to learn how to swim is to jump into the deep end and go for it. At least that's what mom says, and she's right about ten percent of the time.

I cut my eyes to her for a second, but then I stare down at my hands. This is the turning point, I can feel it.

Carly stares at me expectantly, being unusually patient for her.

I take a large breath, sit up straighter, and look directly into my best friend's eyes.

"I like Freddie."

Ever since I'd admitted to her that I like Freddie, she'd been relentless in her plans to get us together. Even though I constantly tried to explain to her exactly why we'd never work out in that way, she wasn't getting it. She simply returned everything I said with a shrug and a smile before immediately thinking up new ways to make Freddie see me as more than a friend.

By the time we get to school, Wendy's already waiting at my locker and I can barely hold back a groan. "Hey, Wendy."

Her nostrils flare slightly before she responds. "Why didn't you answer any of my texts?" she asks. I can tell she's trying not to get upset, but it's a losing battle. Her mouth is tight and her eyes are narrowed, surprising me a little. I'd seen her angry before, but never at me.

I shrug slightly, not looking at her as I grab a few books from my locker. God, these things are heavy. Is this the effect of not meeting my daily protein intake for a week? "Sorry, I didn't want to talk."

"Well, can we talk now?"

I glance at Carly, and I can see she's confused. We're all normally on great terms with each other. We've even had Wendy on the show a few times over the years, and she studies at Carly's whenever there's a big exam coming up.

"It's not a good time," I mumble, closing my locker.

Wendy grabs my arm tightly so that I look at her. "When is a good time, then?"

I shrug again, which is probably a bad move. She roughly pushes me into my locker. She doesn't do it hard, and I barely feel it, but it makes a disturbingly loud sound. The entire hallway goes quiet as people wait to see what I'm going to do, and Wendy herself doesn't seem to believe what she'd just done. She lets go of my arms immediately, backing away slightly. The fear on her face would make me smirk–if I could actually do something to her.

"That...that wasn't cool," I mumble lamely, breathing through my nose to control my anger.

I can hear a few whispers now, and all of them sound like my rep flushing down the toilet.

Emboldened by my lack of action, she nervously raises her chain. "I want you to leave Freddie alone. We're dating now."

I blink. Was she serious? Wendy was a tough chick, but not against me. I could snap her little neck like a twig if I wanted to.

"What's this about you and Freddie?" Carly interrupts. Her hand is already halfway to her hair, and I feel a little bad for stressing her out over something so stupid. I'm annoyed that Freddie hasn't bothered to tell us about the fact that he has a girlfriend now, and okay, a little hurt, but not enough to stress about it.

Wendy turns to Carly with a small smile. "I don't want to drag you into this, Carly. Well, Sam? Will you stop bothering him?"

I'm a little shocked at the accusation. Me? Bothering Freddie? Who the hell is she getting her info from and where can I find them so that I can beat them up? "Dude, I haven't spoken to Freddie since Friday."

Her face instantly relaxes, but she's still glaring at me. "Look, I may not know the exact reason, but I know the reason he's been so distracted is because of you. Do you like him or not? Just be honest with me."

I shrug and avert my gaze again. I don't want to lie, but I sure as hell don't want to tell the truth. Especially not in public and to the girl who is quickly becoming the gossip queen of Ridgeway.

After another few seconds of silence, she sighs with frustration and shakes her head, walking off without so much as a second glance.

The eyes on the back of my head are uncomfortable. Most people usually don't even have the balls to look in my general direction, but now it seems as if they can't get enough. I want to turn around and growl, maybe flash my teeth at a few people, but I can't. I can't do anything.

And to think, it's only been one week.

* * *

**Freddie POV**

Rather than hang out with Carly and Sam like usual, I'd spent the weekend with Wendy instead.

The real reason I was avoiding them was because of the prominent red marks on both sides of my neck. I'd noticed them after waking up the next morning, and rather than feel proud, I just felt embarrassed. I didn't want them to see what I'd been up to at that party and elected to wait awhile for the bruises to fade some. In the meantime, I took to wearing hoodies, high collars, and the occasional scarf.

I don't know why–I really don't–but for some reason, my thoughts always shifted back to Sam. The sadness in her face, her mysterious words, Her adorable puppy dog eyes as she stared up at me from a cocoon of blankets...it was confusing. I typed dozens of messages to her, but none of them made it out of the draft stage. There are literally fifty messages sitting on my phone right now that I'd wanted to send, but every time I tried, I just...couldn't.

The worst part about this whole situation is that Wendy's a great girl. She's smart, funny, and ridiculously cute. It's also great that she seems to be crazy about me. Which was kind of a bummer, since I'm not really me at the moment. I'm Sam. Wendy's crazy about Sam.

We'd only kissed two more times since the party, and not for lack of her trying. The entire weekend I felt as though I were fending off a wild animal, and by Sunday, I'd realized that the only way to keep her off of me was to be in a bright, public place. Then, she'd only slip her hand under the table to rub my thigh or use her foot to rub up against my calves. Frankly, it was freaking me out a little. The difference in experience between us was staggering, and I was starting to wonder if the more I resisted the more excited it made her.

Now, I'm not complaining. Not even close. I sort of enjoyed all of the physical aspects of what we were doing, but...it didn't feel right. There was a nagging somewhere in the back of my head that wouldn't let me touch her no matter how much I wanted to. I'd even considered the possibility that I was gay, but I wrote that idea off as soon as it appeared. If I were gay, well, little Freddie wouldn't be saluting me every time Wendy's hand slid up my thighs.

I'm brought out of my reverie by a punch on my shoulder. "Way to go man!" a voice I recognize as Skip Peters' says.

"What?" I blink, confused.

"Wendy and Sam got into it this mornin'. Word is it was about you."

He claps me roughly on the shoulder and I struggle not to wince. "Man, Benson, I didn't know you had it like that. I knew you nailed Wendy, but Sam Puckett?! Shit!"

I feel my jaw clench. I want to punch him. Badly. "Don't talk about them like that," I mumble out.

"C'mon, dude, I'm just givin' you some props. You're doin' your thing and I respect it."

I level my glare on him. "I said leave it."

He raises his hands and shrugs. "Alright, Benson, damn."

Luckily the bell rings, and I'm instantly on my feet. I have to find Sam. I don't know why, exactly. I feel angry, but I'm not sure at who or what. Most guys would be happy to have two cute girls fighting over him. Sure, one of them was Sam, but objectively, she's attractive. There's no way around that.

It only takes me five minutes to find her in the lunchroom. She's eating a tuna fish sandwich, a bag of grapes, and a carton of milk–my favorite lunch combination. _Freddie's_ favorite lunch combination.

"What the hell is your problem?" I ask, sitting down next to Carly and glaring across the table at Sam.

The blond smiles sarcastically at me. "'Oh, hi Sam, how was your weekend?' Great, thanks for asking."

I might've actually thought it was funny if I weren't so pissed off, but instead, I lean forward across the table, baring my teeth slightly. "Why are you messing with Wendy? Is this about Friday? Because she had nothing to do with what happened."

Sam's face darkens. "I didn't do anything to Wendy. _She_ came to talk to me."

"Like I'm supposed to believe that."

"I'm you, remember? I'm not lying."

I narrow my eyes as I read her expression, but I can't detect any hint of dishonesty. Then again, Sam's a notoriously amazing liar. I've never been able to tell the difference, so why would I be able to tell now? I run a frustrated hand through my hair, getting angrier by the second. "You always do this! I finally get one good thing going for me and you have to ruin it!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Shut it, Puckett!" I yell, slamming my fist on the table. Both girls jump and the entire cafeteria quiets down. Dozens of eyes are on us, but I ignore them.

"Dude, it's not that serious," Sam mutters after a tense five seconds, glaring at me with a look I've never seen before.

Carly nods, apparently agreeing with her. She chews nervously on the end of her hair. "Maybe we should call this off. It doesn't feel right anymore. It's never felt right."

They're looking at me as if I don't feel the same way. I mean, I had actually lashed out violently. Me. The guy who had been raised as a pacifist by the most batshit, overprotective mother in the world.

If I'm honest with myself, though, I actually sort of like blowing off the excess steam for once. It's so much better than just swallowing my anger and moving on. I feel liberated–relieved, even. Maybe I'll actually listen to Gunsmoke's advice and start going to a gym. The pushups and dumbbells I'm using now apparently aren't good enough.

Still, the mild fear in Carly's eyes makes me feel guilty. This bet has nothing to do with her and I'm turning her world upside down. "I'm sorry, I just–trying to be Sam is stressful!"

I notice a flicker of something pass across Sam's face, but before I can fully identify what the emotion is, it's gone. "Then back down while you still have your sanity, Freddie." I expect to see challenge in her eyes, but her gaze is pleading and it surprises me.

It's not enough to make me stop, though. "Why don't you?"

She shrugs her shoulders and picks at the bread of her tuna sandwich, mysteriously glancing away from me. "I don't want to lose to you."

"Well, me either."

I watch her fingers nimbly pinch away the crust, almost like it's a practiced art. "Look, maybe...maybe we should stay away from each while this bet is going on."

"Sam!" Carly gasps, snapping her head around to look at her.

"She's right. This fighting is ridiculous."

Carly's nearly in tears by this point, making me feel extremely guilty. "But you guys always fight!" she wails, grabbing both of our hands and trying to pull them together.

"Not like this. It's different." I slide my hand out of her grip and pick up my bag, avoiding her gaze the entire time. "I'll see you guys tonight at rehearsal."

* * *

**SAM POV**

A couple of days after our fight we filmed another iCarly, and just like the last one, it was an absolute disaster. Freddie still couldn't get the hang of being spontaneous, and I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to be pointing at half the time.

And, holy chiz, were the comments brutal. People were taking the piss out of all of us–even Carly, Gibby and Spencer who hadn't been on the show since the bet started. We were down an average of fifty thousand viewers per week, and the number was only getting lower.

As he'd promised, Freddie made himself scarce. I saw him around school every now and then with Wendy or a few of the other dropouts, but he doesn't even glance my way. It bothers me a little, but it's better than us fighting.

I sigh loudly as I sit on Carly's couch, eating a far too ripe banana. It's Friday afternoon and I'm eating a banana alone on someone else's couch. Oh, how far I have fallen.

I'm understandably pleased when Carly finally gets home from her stupid prom committee meeting, but my joy turns into concern when I see her face. "What's wrong?"

"Freddie got into another fight," Carly sighs, plopping down next to me. She has her wounded puppy dog look on and everything, so I know this is really getting to her.

"With who?"

"Tank Thompson, Wendy's ex."

My eyes widen. He's a big dude, and is currently the star of the school's football team. He's an offensive lineman, I think, and the biggest guy on the roster. Even I had trouble flipping him when he'd wolf whistled at me a few months ago. That was actually why Wendy dumped him now that I think about it.

"Who won?"

Carly sighs again. "Freddie."

I snap my head up, officially shocked. "Seriously?"

"I saw it. He's actually really good. He dodged every one of Tank's punches until he got tired and then he just flipped him on his back–using your move."

"Well, Tank is big, slow, and stupid. Leave it to Freddie to come up with the easiest way to beat him. Good for him, I guess."

"No, Sam, It's only going to get worse for him! You know how it goes. Can you just talk to him? Please? For me?" She's giving me those stupid puppy dog eyes and tilting her head, her classic move for making Freddie do whatever she wants. Even though it doesn't really work on me anymore, it still works on Freddie.

I growl under my breath and stand up, tossing my banana peel on the chair behind me. "You want me to talk to him? Fine. Just don't be surprised when I'm back in two seconds."

I stomp across the hall and knock on the door, probably a little harder than I should've. I'm unsurprised when his mom opens the door, and since Ms. Benson actually sort of likes me now–I'm just as skeeved as you are–she smiles when she sees me.

"Hello, Samantha. What can I help you with?"

I take a few seconds to compose myself before speaking. I don't want to sound too angry. "Is Freddie home?"

"He's out. With Wendy." Her face takes on a sour look, and for some reason, I feel relieved that she doesn't seem to care for Wendy. Happy, even. I'm even more surprised by what she says next. "Why don't you wait in his room? He said he'd be back soon."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really?"

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He's been so angry lately, and something about that Wendy girl just upsets me. Can you believe I find her _too_ nice? You and Carly have done a number on the both of us, it seems." She tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace.

"Okay, thanks," I mumble, still a little put off by her uncharacteristic faith in me. She steps back and I slip into the apartment.

"Do you want something to eat? I made soybean pie."

I try not to blanch at the thought. "No thanks, I just ate." I quickly make my way into his room before she can offer me anymore of her gross health foods.

As soon as I step into the room, I notice that his computer area is littered with equipment. He has a weird looking turntable hooked up to his computer, and I smile as I realize what he's doing. The little nerd's trying to turn some old records into mp3s.

I notice a very familiar record and put it on, feeling myself bounce with anticipation as I wait for it to start. The Bad Brains blasts from his computer speakers, and I can't stop the wide smile that appears on my face. This is one of my favorite songs.

Before I know it, I'm jumping around the room, flinging my head every which way. My long blonde hair is whipping around my face, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like myself again even though I'm not supposed to. An amused laugh from behind me forces me to stop barely halfway through the song, and I turn around to see Freddie looking at me with raised eyebrows.

"Having fun, Puckett?" While I'm trying to control my breathing so that I can say something, that annoying smirk he seems to have perfected slides across his face. "Don't stop on account of me."

I sit down on his bed, trying to hide my embarrassment at being caught dancing in his room. Remembering what I was here for in the first place, though, I raise my eyes to meet his. "I heard you fought Tank Thompson."

His face instantly changes from amused to angry. "Yeah."

"Was it over Wendy?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "I dunno. He just came at me out of nowhere and started throwing punches. That ever happen to you?"

"Sometimes."

"Oh."

An awkward silence settles over us, so I take it upon myself to break it. "Are these your dad's?" I ask, gesturing towards the records piled around his desk.

He nods and I see his eyes light up. "Yeah, I was just digitizing them last night. I'm gonna add 'em to my PearPod."

"Kind of techy. You wouldn't be trying to cheat on our bet in secret, would you?"

He smirks and shrugs. "I figured this was worth it."

"It totally is. I want copies of all of these albums."

"I'll think about it."

I jokingly stick my tongue out at him, smiling slightly. "How's Wendy?"

"She's–okay," he mumbles, all hint of humor suddenly gone from his face.

I'm curious, but I shrug it off. "Cool. She hates me, you know, and she skeezes your mom out."

He lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Nah, Wendy just gets upset at anyone who takes time away from her, and you know how my mom is."

"Well, Wendy's liked you for awhile, so I guess it makes sense," I say before I can stop myself.

Freddie's eyebrows curve upwards. "Really? Even before this whole bet thing?"

"I guess."

I play with the edge of my shorts, picking at a loose thread with my fingernails. I'd wanted to lie, but I can't while I'm being Freddie. I don't even know why I brought it up in the first place.

"Listen," I start, unable to meet his eyes. "I was wrong about what I said before. I've been doing a lot of thinking–" He snorts, and I shoot him glare. "–and I think we should hang out again. You, me, and Carly. This stupid bet shouldn't ruin our friendship and iCarly."

Freddie chuckles a bit, and the sound is oddly comforting to my ears. "I don't think I've ever heard you be so honest. It's kind of weird."

"How do you think _I_ feel about it?"

He scratches at his stubble–which surprisingly suits him–and nods. "Well, I've been trying _not_ to think about it," he grins teasingly, "But you're right for once, Puckett. I kinda miss havin' you around."

This time a comfortable silence envelopes us, and I take the chance to look around the room. I hadn't noticed before, but all of his nerd stuff is gone. I consider that he might have done it because of the bet, but it was more likely that he did it because he'd had Wendy over. His mom worked often enough to where he could sneak people in if he wanted to, but as far as I knew, he'd never wanted to until now.

My eyes land on a picture of a man and a baby. I notice that the man looks familiar, and a second later, I realize that it's probably his dad. I suddenly remember that I didn't know anything about his dad while Carly and Wendy did. I'm curious, and I figure It's as good of a time as any to ask while we're on good terms with each other for the moment.

"So," I start, not sure how to broach the topic, "Is that your dad? What happened to him?"

I notice his eyes cut to me and narrow slightly, his gaze mistrustful. "Yeah, that's him. Why do you wanna know?"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Nah, it's no big deal," he says, but I can tell that it is. He moves over to sit next to me with a loud sigh, our knees touching by the slightest amount.

"Well," he starts slowly, running a hand through his messy hair, "I killed him."

I don't really know what to say to that, which is rare for me. Freddie killed his dad? That was impossible. I've known Freddie since middle school, and his dad's been gone much longer than that. There was no way that was true. I motion for him to continue.

He takes a few deep breaths, running his hand through his hair again as he struggles to relive the memory. "He was taking me on a walk, and I was playing with this stupid toy. I don't even remember what it was. I think it was a Batman action figure or something."

He stops for a minute and I take his hand in mine, interlacing our fingers. I don't know why I do it, but he relaxes, takes another breath, and continues so I figured it worked. "We were walking through a crosswalk and I dropped my toy. My dad went back to pick it up, and then–" I notice his eyes harden. "Then this–this fucking asshole flies around the corner and hits him. The only reason I lived was because my dad pushed me out of the way. Everything is my fault."

I'm a little taken aback by the swearing and the bitterness in his voice, so I lightly squeeze his hand. I feel my chest ache for him, and it's all I can do not to hug him. "Freddie..."

I feel his hand tighten in mine. "Don't say it's not my fault. Everyone says that, but it was."

A pang of anger flashes through me at his words. "You're right, it is your fault. It's your fault for being a kid. It's your fault that your dad loved you so much that he put your life over his," I seeth, slightly shocking myself.

Freddie too seems surprised, but he quickly recovers and looks away from my gaze. "It doesn't bother me anymore. I'm over it."

"No, you're not." I sigh and lessen my grip, smiling slightly at him. "But thanks for telling me."

He's quiet for a few seconds as if gathering his thoughts. "You know...you're the first person I've told this story to."

"Really? What about Carly? And Wendy?"

"I told them he died in a car accident. Never the whole thing."

"Wow. I...wow." I'm at a loss for words. The fact that he trusts me so much sends a warm feeling through my chest, and I can't stop my smile from widening. Freddie trusts me. It's a responsibility I never thought I wanted, but now that I have it, I'm just...happy.

I lean his head on my shoulder and put my arms around him until I feel him relax. He looks up at me through his long brown hair with a slight grin that looks adorable on his still somewhat boyish face. I glance down at his lips, and before I know it, I'm kissing him.

He tries to pull back but I'm persistent, leaning forward to press my lips more insistently against his. I feel one of his hands embed itself in my hair and pull my head closer to his even though there's no room and I know he's given in to me.

I'm kissing Freddie, and it feels amazing. It's so much better than our first kiss in every way possible, and the feelings that we're pouring into each other feels like fire.

At that moment, my brain catches up with me. I'm kissing Freddie, who has a girlfriend. A girlfriend who's also one of my better friends. What am I doing?

I break away and slap my hand over my mouth, eyes wide as I stare at his confused expression. I jump to my feet and head towards the door. I feel like the lowest thing on the planet. I can vaguely hear him calling my name, but I don't stop. I can't. I shoot past his mother and run out the door, slamming it loudly behind me.


	8. Chapter 8

**iTrade Places**

**Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. FML.**

**Chapter 8**

**Freddie POV**

Sam is like a ghost these days.

After our kiss, she just...disappeared. I hadn't seen even a glimpse of her at school nor at Carly's, and the worst part was that Carly wouldn't say a word to me about it. All she would do is frown and change the subject.

She of course showed up for practice because I never missed no matter what, but she wouldn't even look in my direction most of the time. I'd tried to talk to her, but if it wasn't about the show, she wasn't interested, and right after, she bolted. I knew Sam was fast, but holy shit. She was out the door before I could even get to the top of Carly's staircase.

It got to the point where I couldn't even sleep. I had dozens–hundreds–of questions, but absolutely no answers. What am I supposed to think if no one's willing to talk to me?

"Freddie? What's wrong?" Wendy asks, nuzzling her lips into my neck. We're lying together on my bed, and even though I should be pleased to have a girl practically on top of me, I'm not.

As terrible as it sounds, I'd forgotten she was even here. She'd come over half an hour ago to 'hang out', but neither my head nor heart was into it. I'd been avoiding her since I kissed Sam, both guilty and just generally uninterested in her company. "Sorry Wends," I mumble, giving her a small grin. "What were you saying?"

She's quiet for a few seconds. "It's Sam, right?" She doesn't even look surprised when my eyes widen, instead just sitting up and sighing. "It's always been Sam."

"What?"

She sighs and stares into my eyes. "Do you like me?"

"Of course I like you, Wends." Which was true. Like I said, she's a great girl. I just...I don't know. I don't.

"Kiss me," she murmurs, lying down until our lips are inches apart.

I start to lean in, but I can't go through with it. All I can see are a pair of piercing blue eyes and long golden curls. It doesn't feel right. "I can't."

I see a few tears form in her eyes and feel like the biggest jerk in the world. I'd been trying to avoid this, but it was probably more of a dick move to lead her on like I had been.

"Wends–Wendy, don't cry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she says after a minute, standing up. "I'll see you later."

"Did we just break up?" I ask quietly.

She stands at my door and gives me a small smile. "Does it feel like we did?"

"Yeah, sorta."

"Goodbye, Freddie."

I don't really know what to think. It was only my third breakup, but this one actually made me feel guilty. When I broke up with Valerie, I hadn't felt a thing–maybe because she'd been using me. When I'd broken up with Carly I'd been disappointed and a little sad, but that relationship had been doomed from the start if I was being honest with myself.

I lie back on my bed and frown. As much as I want to be sorry about Wendy, all I can think of is Sam. Her piercing blue eyes, her long, golden curls, the feel of her soft lips against mine...

In that moment, I know what I want to do. What I _need_ to do. I throw on a jacket and rush out of my apartment, ignoring the calls of my mother.

I've only been to Sam's place twice, both times with Carly. This would be my first time going alone, but my memory was flawless. It took me fifteen minutes since I had to stop and find my way a couple of times, but I eventually see her apartment building. It's a lot smaller and older than the Bushwell but altogether alright looking. There's no doorman–lucky her–so I just take the first flight of stairs up until I get to the 5th floor.

I stop in front of 5-A and take a deep breath. I give myself a few minutes to compose myself before raising my hand to knock, and luckily, she answers the door. When I see her face, the hugest feeling of relief washes over me. "Sam, thank God," I whisper, smiling for what feels like the first time in days.

She stares back at me with a blank expression, but I can see something swimming around in those icy blue orbs of hers. "My mom doesn't let me have boys over. I know, hypocritical," she says, the tiniest smile appearing on her face.

"I just need to talk to you, Sam. Please."

She studies my face for a few seconds before eventually sighing and nodding, motioning for me to come in.

I'm a little surprised to see her mom sitting on the couch with a huge bag of chips in her hands. She's watching Family Feud–one of the old ones, with that dead guy Louie Anderson. "Hi, Ms. Puckett," I say, smiling slightly.

Sam shoots me a glare and cuts in, turning to her mom. "Freddie's gonna help me study, mom."

Pam–Sam's mom–slowly turns her head away from the TV. "Freddie Benson, right?" She looks me over, smiles slightly, and shrugs, apparently knowing of my pining for Carly. Guess she's not worried about me getting fresh with her daughter. "How's your mom?"

I blink a little. I didn't even know they knew of each other. "She's fine, same as usual."

Pam nods and turns back to the TV. "Well, go ahead and do what you were gonna do."

As soon as the words leave the woman's mouth, Sam grabs my wrist and drags me deeper into the apartment until we reach an open door, but I'd heard her room well before we got to it. She has the Bad Brains blasting, and I easily recognize the song.

"Big Takeover?" I ask, smirking. It was the song that had been playing the last time we'd kissed in my room.

She shrugs a shoulder and closes the door behind us, plopping down on her bed after shutting off her stereo. "Coincidence. I was listening to Britney Spears before you got here. She's your favorite singer, right?"

I can't decide if she's joking or not, so I shake my head and sit down on the bed next to her. She not so subtly scoots away from me, leaving a full person's width in between us. It's then that I'm reminded why I came over here in the first place.

"Sam, Wendy and I broke up."

I notice she raises her eyebrows, but her expression doesn't change. I could call her out on not being 'Freddie' enough by masking her feelings–implying she even has any about me–but decide against it.

"So? Why are you telling me? I don't care."

I'm not sure whether or not to believe her, but I ignore her words. "It wasn't right when I was with her. When you kissed me...it was."

Her face shifts into horror, and after a couple of seconds, settles on angry. I'm worried she's going to hit me until she starts to speak. "Look, Freddie, you don't believe that. Not really. I know you're scared to actually have a real girlfriend after pining after Carly for so long. I get it–I really do. But if you don't even give Wendy a fair shot, you don't know what'll hap–"

Before I can stop myself, I lean over and kiss her, cutting her off. I can't believe what I'm doing and I can't believe she's letting me do it and it feels like everything I've ever wanted and it's just perfect and she's perfect and it's like nothing I've ever felt before and it's overloading my senses and I can't breathe and all I want to do is keep kissing her and never let it end no matter what happens and there are fireworks and sparks and bright lights and every single cliche I've ever read or seen is flashing behind my eyelids and it feels like hours have passed before we break away from each other.

God, my head is spinning and everything looks more vivid and bright than I remember it. My legs are like jello as I try to stand on them so I give up for the time being and it's all I can do just to look at her without wanting to kiss her again. One look at her shocked face and unfocused eyes and I can't stop the shame that creeps up my cheeks. "Sorry," I mumble, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

She shakes her head, still out if it. "It's cool." I start to try to stand again, but then she grabs my head in her hands and reciprocates. I'm fighting with myself to keep my hands in neutral places because God do I want her in the worst way right now. "Freddie," she breathes as we separate again, chest heaving in her tank top. "What are–what're we doing?"

"Shut it, Puckett," I growl, brushing my lips against hers by the slightest amount. I swear her eyes darken a shade, and I wonder if she likes it when I'm mean to her. I gently bite her lip to test this theory, and when she groans softly, I know it's true. Good to know.

I roll us over until my body's covering hers. She lifts a hand and moves my hair out of my eyes and then kisses me again, pulling me down to her by my shirt with her other one.

When I lean down to kiss the small, exposed spot above her collarbone Sam lets loose a rather loud groan, and shortly afterwards her eyes widen. Reading her expression, I instantly slide down to the floor. Sam flips over onto her stomach, and as if we'd practiced this, I toss up her notebook and a pencil and grab her laptop from her bed, opening it and pretending to type.

Her mother almost slams open the door a second later, eyes scanning the room until they land on the two of us. "Sam? You alright in here?"

"Y-yeah mom, what's up?" Sam stutters, sounding surprisingly natural despite her small slip up.

Her mother surveys the room again, and I look up at Pam with as much innocence as I can muster the entire time.

She again levels us with a hard, steely blue gaze, and I can't help but think of how similar they are to Sam's. "I heard a loud sound."

Sam expertly looks confused for a second before making her face light up with recognition. "Oh, that. Freddie said I had to learn fractals for the final and I didn't really feel up to it so I kinda groaned really loud."

I nervously stare at Sam's mom. I'm not sure if she's buying it, but there isn't any proof to say otherwise. The woman can be just as maddeningly expressionless as Sam.

"You and Freddie want some bagel bites to help you study?"

"Yeah, thanks mom," Sam smiles.

She then glances over at me so I nod appreciatively. "That'd be cool, thanks Ms. P."

Pam nods slowly. "Alright." She pauses as if she wants to ask something else but leaves a second later, closing the door behind her.

I wait a good minute before I lean my head back to smirk at Sam. "Nice going, Puckett."

"Well, next time don't kiss my sensitive spots without asking me first!" She huffs, pouting.

"That's one of your sensitive spots, huh?"

Sam blushes prettily, and I know I'm hooked. It's a dick thing to think, but comparing Sam to Wendy is like...comparing kittens to toads. You just can't. Hell, I don't even feel bad about breaking up with her anymore.

"So," she says, leaning her head over my shoulder. Her long, curly blonde hair pools into my lap, and I can't help taking a deep whiff of her strawberry-scented shampoo. "How far have you and Wendy gotten?"

"What?" I ask, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going.

"Has she..." she makes a motion with her hand that I'm all too familiar with and I blanch, furiously shaking my head.

"No!" I quickly get a grip on myself. "No."

Sam snorts. "Not for lack of her trying, I bet."

A grin pops up on my face. "Are you jealous, Sammy?"

"Yes," she growls without even thinking about it, leaning forward and kissing me roughly. She grabs my chin and forces my lips around to meet hers almost painfully.

I can't get enough of her lips. It's like she's laced them with crack or something since every time we break apart for even a second I'm itching to feel them against me again. It wasn't like this with Wendy. It wasn't even like this with Carly during those brief few days we'd dated.

The door begins to open, and we just barely move away from each other before her mom reappears with a large plate. Sam pretends to stare over my shoulder at the laptop resting over my erection (Hey, you try not popping a boner while kissing the hottest girl in existence), and I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"So then you just add two, carry the one, and you have your answer. Do you get it?"

Sam plays along instantly. "Yeah, it totally makes sense now. Thanks, Freddie."

"Here are your pizza bites." She stares straight at me as she hands the plate to Sam, the slightest hint of amusement dancing around in her pupils. Her eyes shift to Sam, and I swear the corner of her lips twitch upwards. "Have fun _studying_," she says, sarcasm heavy in her voice. She turns and leaves the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Sam sighs from behind me, her warm breath feeling great against my cheek. "She knows."

"Yup."

Even though we'd probably have to answer for it at some point, we laugh long and hard.

**AN: Short chapter this time. One more to go. I did NaNo last month and now work full-time, so time was limited! But hey, the NaNo story was an iCarly fic so :P  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**iTrade Places**

**Disclaimer: Sigh.**

**Chapter 9**

**Sam POV**

I can't wipe the stupid grin off of my face, even as I barge into Carly's apartment where my smile will probably be noticed and scrutinized by the nosiest girl in existence.

"Hey Sam," Carly calls from her computer, glancing at me long enough to make sure that's it's really me. She turns back to the computer, but soon after, her head whips back around, eyes narrowed as they run up and down my body. "What's up with you?"

I do my best to appear nonchalant, but it's an impossible battle. "What do you mean?" I know it's useless to try to hide anything from her since the girl knows me better than I know myself sometimes, but I try anyway.

"You're all...I don't know, giddy?" she finishes lamely, whatever she was doing on the computer completely forgotten.

"Well, I don't feel any different." Lie. I feel light. Ecstatic. Over the moon and whatever.

She stares at me suspiciously but shrugs, turning back to the computer. I know it's not the last time she'll bring it up, but I'm safe for now.

"Yo yo yo," Freddie greets, striding into the room.

Carly turns around again, looking at me before she speaks to him. "Freddie? What're you doing here?"

His face takes on a guilty frown, making me groan inwardly. I told him to wait half an hour before coming over after our brief make out session in the stairwell, but apparently he couldn't take directions very well. Or wouldn't, since he was trying to act like me. "What? I'm always here."

Her eyes shift between the two of us, and I know what's going to happen before she does it. A squeal slips out of her throat, and she runs over to hug me, then Freddie. "Oh my God, tell me everything!"

"Whoa, Carls, calm down," he says, holding her by her forearms and taking a step back.

I bite down my jealousy at the fact that he's nearly hugging her and try to look innocent. "Yeah, why are you freaking out?"

"Really? You guys are going to try to act like nothing's going on?"

"Look, I just broke up with Wendy yesterday so I have my free time back. That's it."

"Oh. So you're not..."

"Sorry."

I almost feel bad about the depressed look on her face, but Freddie and I had already agreed that we couldn't get together while this bet was going on. It'd just be too weird–incestuous, almost. We'd be dating ourselves, even though we did tend to lay off on the acting when it was just us together.

Carly sighs and begins to walk towards the kitchen. "Well, at least we're all back together again. Spencer bought another ham today. Want a piece?"

"Duh. You know Papa loves his ham." He shoots me a grin as he says this and I can't help but smirk back.

Suddenly, I feel like being a little mischievous and slowly lick my lips, unable to stop my wide smile when I see the flash of hunger that appears in his eyes. It's amazing to see the effect such a small action has on him when I'm barely even trying.

"So," Carly starts, handing Freddie a plate with the most mouth watering looking piece of ham that I've ever seen in my life, "Why did you and Wendy break up?"

Freddie looks uncomfortable and I level my glare on him, hoping he doesn't blow this. I don't know why he's hesitating. We'd already discussed what excuse he should use the day before.

"It just wasn't working," he shrugs.

Carly, being the nosy person she is, tilts her head and takes a step closer. "Why not?"

I can tell by his expression that the boy is sinking, and fast. Like usual, it's up to me to save the day for the both of us. "Hey, Freddie, is your mom in? I need her help with something."

He immediately catches on, glancing at me gratefully. "Yeah, I think so. Let's check." He grabs the ham off of the plate and sticks it into his mouth, walking back towards the door without a second glance.

"You guys are leaving? Already? Together?"

"We'll be back right after I talk to his mom. It shouldn't take too long."

I'm practically on his heels as I step through the doorway, closing it shut behind me. Instantly, Freddie spins me around and pushes me against his door, kissing me roughly on the lips. I try to keep my groan quiet as I feel fire shoot through my body, but I know I won't be able to stifle myself for long.

"Let's go inside," I whisper, meeting his eyes.

He reaches around me and slips his key into the lock, and before I know it, I'm in his living room. He walks me towards his bedroom, lips pressed insistently against mine.

I have to admit that it still feels a little weird to kiss Freddie Benson, the short, chubby little tech nerd I'd met all those years ago. If my eleven year old self could see me now she'd probably have an aneurysm. The fact that we could barely go ten minutes without some sort of physical contact was disgusting no matter how I sliced it.

My foot bangs against something in the middle of his floor, and I might've tripped if Freddie's arms weren't holding me up. I glance down to see a huge old trunk and raise my eyebrows. "What's that?"

Freddie kisses me above my collarbone in a futile attempt to keep my attention on him. "Nothing."

Frowning, I push him away. "No, seriously, what is that?" I kneel down next to it and run my fingers over it's wooden surface, looking for a latch or something to open it. My eyes light up as I find it, and in milliseconds, I have it unlocked.

My eyes run over the items inside and I feel my jaw drop. There's so much cool stuff that I don't know what to do with myself. Bracelets, band t-shirts, records, cassettes, photos...it's a literal treasure chest of everything I love about music! "Why didn't you tell me about any of this stuff?"

I hear Freddie groan from above, and he plops down next to me all pouty-like. "I never got around to it."

A photo half hidden under one of the shirts catches my eye, so I pick it up. In it is a guy I recognize as Freddie's dad, a woman who's probably his mom, some other random dude, and...holy shit. Holy fucking shit. "Is that my mom?!" I exclaim, gaping at the photo.

Freddie moves closer to me, leaning over my shoulder to take a look. "Wow. Your mom's kind of hot." I smack him on the side of the head and he laughs a little. "I guess that's why your mom asked about mine. They must've been friends."

"Or maybe they were frenemies, like us. See how my mom's glaring at yours?"

"Huh. Maybe you're right. I wonder why they didn't like each other?"

Suddenly interested in this new mystery, we systematically begin to take everything out of the trunk, looking for more clues. Freddie holds up another photo and pushes it in front of my face. "I found another one! Look, it's another one of my dad and your mom." He narrows his eyes and leans closer until I can feel his breath on my cheek. "It looks like they get along, at least."

I nod slightly. He's right. In fact, they look like best friends. They're both sitting on top of a low brick wall, leaning against each other and laughing. A glass bottle of coke sits between them, nearly empty except for a small swallow, and a huge radio sits next to his dad.

"You don't think it's a love triangle, do you?" I ask, noticing the happy look on my mom's face. I don't think I've ever seen her smile like that. Ever.

Freddie's face morphs into horror. "Don't even joke. Gross." He shakes his head and places it on top of the first photo. "Maybe we should stop. You know, do something a little more interesting," he murmurs, lips pressed against my ear.

I sigh softly at the feelings it evokes in my chest. "Are you this eager because you're trying to be me?"

"I'm this eager because you're hot."

Against all rhyme and reason, I feel myself blush. Again. Freddie Benson, nub extraordinaire, has made me blush twice in the last two days, and even worse? I don't mind a bit.

–––

I walk home a few hours later in a daze. After a bit more making out, we'd found four new photos. Two of them were in some sort of studio where my mom and his dad were talking into these old looking microphones, one was of just his parents together, and the last one was of a huge crew of people standing in front of a radio tower. We'd pieced together that they all did some sort of show, but the picture that haunted me the most was the one of his parents.

Though it was barely noticeable, my mom was standing in the background, a look I'd seen all too often smeared across her face. It was the look of utter disdain and disappointment. Her look scared me so much that I don't even notice the strange mutterings of our neighborhood hobo, Franklin, nor the fact that my mom's actually home for once. At least not until I open the door and step into the living room.

"Hey mom," I greet, a little surprised to see her. She's never home two days in a row.

"Hey yourself." She suddenly moves the chip bag and pats the empty space on the couch next to her. "Take a seat."

My jaw drops. My mom was actually asking me to spend time with her? Willingly? Even when I'm trouble she just yells at me from another room.

I slowly make my way over to touch and sit down to stare at the TV with her for a few minutes, watching some crime drama about a SRU unit. There's snipers and guys in awesome gear, so before I know it, I'm sucked in. It's not until my mom puts her arm around me that I remember where I am.

I snap my head around to look at her, eyes wide. Now I know something's up.

"What?" she asks a little defensively, meeting my shocked gaze. "A mother can't touch her daughter?"

My first reaction is to say something snide, but I hold myself back. "It's kind of uncharacteristic. For us, I mean."

She ignores my statement and changes the subject. "Your principal called today. Ted." She pauses for a second and stares curiously at me. "He married?"

"Mom!"

"I'm joking, relax. I saw his wedding band the last time I got dragged down to that hellhole 'cause of you. Anyway, he wanted to talk to me about what's been going on with you lately."

"What about it?" I ask, unable to mask the defensiveness in my voice.

"He says your marks have gone up two letter grades and you haven't been in trouble once this month. You wanna tell me what that's all about?"

I shrug my shoulders, turning my attention back to the TV. I can't answer since that would be against the rules of the bet. Only those involved are allowed to know.

Unfortunately, my mom is relentless. "Is it your boyfriend? The Benson kid?"

That I can answer. "He's not my boyfriend."

She scoffs loudly. "Right. Well, is it because of him?"

"Sort of."

She's silent for a few more minutes, and as soon as I'm sucked into the show again, she interrupts me. "You know, I knew his dad."

I'm not surprised, but I pretend to be for her sake. "Oh yeah?"

She nods slowly, a sudden pained look crossing her face. "Yeah. They're kinda the same. His dad used to produce this radio show on our campus. He was always trying to be cool, saying that the mindless drones walking the halls of the college needed to wake up and listen to music that actually mattered. He was such a dork."

"You went to college?"

"Eh, community college, and I dropped out after..." she didn't bother to finish her sentence, instead shaking her head slightly.

"Oh. Why are you telling me this?"

Mom shrugs her shoulders. "Me and him had a thing for a little while, like you and the Benson kid. I just thought it was kinda funny how history repeats itself. I hope you're not stupid like I was and let him go for no reason, though."

I'm brimming with curiosity by this point. What happened? Obviously they broke up, but why? I want to ask, but she's no longer looking at me and her hand is deep in the bag of Cheetos. She doesn't bother to offer me any since I hadn't really touched any of the junk food in the house thanks to the bet, and weirdly enough, I didn't even crave it much anymore.

I finish the show with her, feeling the very beginnings of tears form in my eyes at the moving conclusion. I might have to actually start watching this show with Freddie since I think he'd appreciate all of the nerd gadgetry that's featured in every episode. Well, after the bet ended, anyway. I stand up and move to head to my room when I feel my mom's hand on my forearm. It's an alien feeling, and I can't help but look at her curiously.

"Even if you two don't work out, don't give up on yourself. You're stronger than that, and I know you can be somethin' good if you wanna be."

I stare at her as if I don't even know her. It's probably the nicest thing my mother has ever said to me, and I swallow hard and nod. "Night, mom."

She waves her hand dismissively and looks away, reverting back to the same Pam Puckett I know and sort of love.

"We're live in 5, 4, 3, 2..." I point my finger at Carly and Freddie, giving them the signal to start.

"I'm Carly!"

"And I'm Freddie!"

"And this is–"

"ICarly!" they yell simultaneously.

I put the camera on Freddie, remembering our rehearsal earlier in the week. "Now, I know you guys have had your concerns about the show lately, but don't worry folks. This is my last week," he says, putting on an over exaggerated sad face. He pushes a button on the remote, and a series of boos sound from the speakers. "So with that, I decided it's as good of a time as any to introduce a new segment I like to call 'What's that smell!'"

I laugh a little at this since Freddie had told me about this little surprise while we'd been lying in my bed the night before. Carly's confused expression was worth it, and I quickly push a few buttons on the laptop to queue up the title graphics I'd made this morning. I'm actually a little impressed with myself if I'm being completely honest. It looks pretty good considering I'd been using Photodock for not even a month. Maybe I had a career in art or something.

Gibby appears from off camera with a cart that has three covered dishes on it and a blindfold.

Carly looks at the camera and gulps, knowing that this wouldn't end well for her.

An hour later, we plop down in our beanbags with loud sighs. "How'd we do?" Freddie asks, looking over at me with a slightly nervous frown. I check the webpage and smile widely at him.

"We did great! Better than the last three shows combined!"

Freddie and I jump to our feet and begin to dance together, and out of the corner of my eye I see Carly smiling up at us with that little knowing look of hers. Rolling my eyes, I grab her arm and pull her up to join in.

"Aren't you two forgetting something?"

We glance at each other and then back at Carly with confusion, shrugging a bit.

"Spencer! Gibby! It's time!" she calls.

They stroll into the room with top hats and sashes, and when we turn to look at Carly again, she's sporting a similar get up.

"What's this all about, Shay?" Freddie asks.

Carly looks at us with exasperation. "Did you guys seriously forget? The bet! Today's the last day!"

Well, damn. I'd actually forgotten. I'd become so used to my role as Freddie that it felt like second nature to me by now. My surprise is overridden by my curiosity, and I'm bouncing on my toes in seconds. "So, who wins?"

Spencer held up a sign with Sam's name on it and I smile. "Yes! In your face, Fredward!"

Freddie nods towards the signs the other two are holding. "Nope, there's still two more to go." Gibby turns his sign around and Freddie's name is there. Misspelled horribly, but there. "Ha! You were sayin', Puckett?"

I shoot Gibby a glare that promised pain in his near future, and he wisely takes a step back.

Everyone's eyes turn to Carly, who's looking far too smug for someone in her position. "Well?" I urge, grabbing her arm.

Freddie does the same to her other arm. "Who wins?"

She turns over her card and it shows a huge frowny face. "You both lose. You two have been canoodling behind my back for days now, you...canoodlers! Sam and Freddie would never do something like that!"

"You have no proof," I barely choke out, shocked that she'd figured it out. I thought we'd been pretty careful, but apparently I was wrong.

A wide, knowing smile appears on Carly's face. "Don't I?"

Freddie and I glance at each other nervously as Carly queues up a video on her laptop. "Exhibit A! A video from practice earlier this week!"

In it, I say that I need to use the bathroom, and a few seconds later, Freddie says he needs ham. We exit at roughly the same time, and even I can admit that it's highly suspicious.

"So? What does that prove?" Freddie murmurs, looking way too guilty for his own good.

"Exhibit B! A video from after you two got back!"

Because we're in a makeout-induced daze, we again return at roughly the same time. Our hair and clothing are noticeably disheveled, our lips are puffed and slightly bruised, and my lip gloss is smeared in a way that can only be done by kissing. As the clip goes on, there's even a small smudge of my lip gloss visible on Freddie's neck.

I'm not ready to give up, though. "That...that doesn't mean anything. Maybe I–"

Freddie grabs my hand in his, shaking his head. "Sam. It's over."

My face drops and I sigh with disappointment. I was really looking forward to having Freddie at my beck and call, too. Especially now that we we were doing fun things like making out. There were so many ways I could use that to my advantage.

"Don't you pretty much own Freddie anyway since you're dating?" Carly smirks, still high off of her victory.

"Whoa, Shay, hold your horses there. Freddie and me aren't dating. We're just..." I trail off, trying to think of a suitable way to describe our arrangement. Luckily, Freddie saves the day.

"Having fun."

I nod slowly, finding that his words fit how I feel perfectly. "That."

Carly rolls her eyes. "You two are hopeless." She sounds annoyed, but she still can't hide the smile on her face. "I'm going to the Groovy Smoothie for celebration drinks. Anyone else?" Gibby and Spencer instantly follow her out the door, probably not wanting to be left alone with us. Smart guys.

"So," Freddie starts.

"So."

"I guess we're us again, right?"

I shrug slightly. "I guess."

Freddie suddenly takes a few steps in my direction and grabs me around the waist. He kisses me roughly, making me grunt into his mouth. Before he can even lift his hands to run his fingers through my hair (something he seems to enjoy an awful lot), I flip him on his back, straddle his thighs, and grin down at him. "Uh uh, Benson. Mama's in charge again." I lean down and press my lips against his gently, closing my eyes to fully savor the contact.

"Wow," he breathes, staring up at me with what looks like wonder after we break apart.

I laugh a little and shake my head. "You're such a nub, but–" I lightly trace his lips with my fingertips, smiling when he closes his eyes. "–you're mine anyway."

His eyes widen at my declaration, but I don't give him time to reply as I lean down again and kiss him for the second time.

A week later, everyone's heard about our little bet. They were all surprisingly good sports about it, even Wendy. I mean, she was still upset with me, but I felt like she'd get over it eventually. Even she has to recognize that he was never hers to begin with. I'd staked my claim years ago.

The question I kept getting asked the most is if I would do it again; if I would change everything about myself just to win a stupid bet.

My answer?

In a heartbeat.

**AN: So relieved to be done. I'm a little upset with this story since it's horribly rushed at the end and I didn't get to use a couple of plot points that I wanted to use involving their parents/the show, but like I said, I have things to do and better stories to write. I don't think I'll be using first person limited or whatever it's called for awhile. It ruins my flow. **

**Thanks so much for R&Ring, guys! If no one reviewed it, I honestly would've stopped halfway. I just hate letting people down :P**


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